


Lost Children

by gracie137



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Harry Potter, Coming Out, Complete, Death Eater Trials, Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter Friendship, Drarry, Endgame Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, First Time, Gay Draco Malfoy, Good Slytherins, Grief/Mourning, Harry / Ginny mentions, Humor, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Harry Potter, Past Character Death, Pining, Pining Harry, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Secret Relationship, Slow Burn, Slytherins Being Slytherins, Supportive Ron Weasley, War Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-08 06:28:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 117,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11640861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracie137/pseuds/gracie137
Summary: There's a lot of things Harry doesn't expect to happen after the War but Narcissa Malfoy invoking his life debt to her and asking him to save her son is top of the list.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, wow it's been a while since i posted something on here, but now i'm back in a completely new fandom.  
> This fic came to me in the form of Pansy Parkinson arriving at the Burrow calling in Narcissa's life debt and it's grown from there. I did not anticipate quite how much it would grow from there.  
> Please please please leave a comment or kudos if you like it, I just want to hear from people <3 
> 
> i'm on tumblr [@gracie137blogs](http://gracie137blogs.tumblr.com)  
> Shoutout to my amazing reader LLAP115 who saw me through the entire thing and to my beta tdcat without who this story wouldn't make nearly as much sense <3

It was only when he was flying that Harry was able to forget the madness of the last year. It was only the rush of the wind and the shouts of his friends that filled the silence that echoed in his head. The silence of dying. He wanted more than anything to forget it but he couldn’t. The lingering longing for the peace it would have given him: the fantasy of being reunited with his parents and Sirius and Remus. Even his dreams of his parents were tinged with darkness now as he was unable to reach for their hands, so close, but then they would slip through his fingers and he’d wake up, alive and breathing with Narcissa Malfoy’s voice in his head, “Dead.”

Ron’s shout yanked Harry from his thoughts, and he saw Ginny darting away with the quaffle towards where Hermione shakily marked their goal. Hermione only played for the distraction, and while not as awful as she once was, she was still the last picked. He dived, streaking through the sky after Ginny’s blazing hair. Her laugh carried through the air, taunting him and begging him to follow, challenging him to try and catch her. He responded to the challenge as he always did.

“Come on slow coach!” she called. Harry willed his broom forward and grabbed the end of hers; she was a fantastic flyer, but he had a better broom. “Don’t you fucking dare!” was all the warning he got before she started kicking at him, brown eyes filled with warmth and her freckled face flushed. She truly was beautiful, and he wished he hadn’t been feeling as apathetic towards their relationship as he was. It was this thought that cost him as she leaned in and bit his jaw hard before flying away and leaving him cursing.

The Quidditch matches were a mess and a free-for-all. They played them most days, when the silences started to stretch too long, and someone’s eyes became hollow. Ginny had been the first to suggest it one day when Harry had confessed to her that he found the silence oppressive, that it reminded him of walking into the Forbidden Forest to die.

Since then the Burrow had filled out with more and more people staying over. It wasn’t always the same group apart from Harry, Ron, and Ginny; Hermione was nearly always there, but she had to return to her parents some nights. Ron often went with her. They all found it easier to sleep through the nights if they weren’t alone.

Neville and Luna had become the first to basically move into the Burrow, followed by Seamus and Dean. It had extended from just the Gryffindors and into anyone who had been a member of Dumbledore’s Army. When Parvati Patil would cry if she saw Ron kissing Hermione, unable to not see the ghost of Lavender, it would be Luna who wrapped an arm around her and Ginny who passed her a bottle of firewhiskey. “There’s no shame in drinking from the bottle,” had become their mantra, and even Mrs Weasley couldn’t hold it against them.

Molly didn’t complain about the fact the Burrow had become a home for the lost children of the war, children who had spent too much time forced into being soldiers and fighting adults who should have known better. Ron and Ginny were the only Weasley children left at home now, and Molly welcomed her new family with open arms and steaming heaps of food. Arthur would just crook a brow at another child at the table before sitting down and making sure they all laughed. It was messy but it worked; they were all trying to heal.

“Harry!” Harry let out a bark of laughter at Ron’s disappointed yell before he flew after Ginny again. It was pointless, and sure enough only a second later she scored. Hermione offered an apology, and Ron swore never to put her in goal again. The problem with this threat was that Hermione was useless in any position. The worst yet was when they’d tried to make her play Beater. She’d ended up with a black eye and had refused to talk to Ron for an hour when he’d grumbled about how awful she was.

They didn’t usually have enough people for a full game of fourteen players, and so they would often have to sacrifice positions. It was understandable but regrettable, in Harry’s mind, that Seeker was always the first to go.

Dean was cursing now and tackling Ginny, whose face was always more alive when she was flying. Neville was arguing with Seamus over whether or not Seamus had cheated (He had.). Harry had noticed in the games that Seamus couldn’t lie for shit, he’d just laugh. He had also noticed that despite being able to kill a snake and be crucial in the downfall of Voldemort, Neville had the hand-eye coordination of a flobberworm, an insult not used lightly in Harry’s eyes. He shuddered at the memory of the disgusting creatures; they had not been a highlight of Harry’s Hogwarts career.

Harry didn’t let himself think of Hogwarts - he hated Voldemort for destroying his sanctuary and the one place he had always managed to call home. McGonagall had invited them back to retake their seventh year, but he couldn’t go back without seeing all those he failed to save. Hermione kept begging him and Ron to return, but Harry couldn’t. Ron had only said he’d consider it to keep her happy, but he confided to Harry that he couldn’t go back either. Harry and Ron had returned to Hogwarts once to see how the restoration was going. Harry had lasted ten minutes before fleeing, Ron fifteen. Ron heard Fred’s laughter in the halls, he’d whispered one night through tears.

“What you thinking?”

Harry glanced up to see Ginny hovering beside him, head cocked and a small smile playing at her lips.

“Nothing,” he shrugged, tugging on the end of her ponytail. She batted him away playfully and rolled her eyes.

“You’re lying,” she held up her hand before he could protest. “Whenever you lie you look to the left and lick your lips.” Harry’s heart swelled at the way she knew him, the way she’d always known him. Their relationship wasn’t always perfect, and he knew he wasn’t the best boyfriend, but it was easy. “And your brows crease when you’re stressed,” she added, reaching over and smoothing out his frown lines with her thumb.

He admitted defeat and sighed, “Just the usual.”

Ginny nodded and bit on her lip, tilting her chin up and smiling, “I know.” Harry loved the stubborn tilt of her chin, and how most of the time she refused to let the war consume her. He wished he could offer her more useful words, but he couldn’t. It felt like he was giving a part of himself away every time he opened up, and he was desperate to save himself for himself. He’d just become whole again.

At this point Luna and Seamus had begun another rendition of the latest Celestina Warbeck song. It was a memorial song for the war and all those who had fought and lost their lives. They had two options of either laughing or crying at the song. Seamus had taken to doing an ear-splitting impression of Warbeck’s other new song, ‘Thanks to the Saviour,’ whenever he was bored, and most of the group had tendency to join in.

Only the other day Harry and Ginny had tried to sneak back into the living room after a quick hook-up in her room, and Seamus had decided it was the perfect time to burst into the verse about how she wanted to ride his magnificent broomstick. It was a toss-up who was redder, Harry or Ron. Ginny had taken it all in her stride and began conducting them until Harry had tackled her into the sofa, laughing as their legs entwined, and she smirked up at him. They’d left the room as quickly as they’d entered - much to Ron’s disgust.

“Dinner!” Mrs Weasley’s shrill tone interrupted the singing, causing Luna to sigh. One by one they lowered their brooms to the ground and stuffed everything in the broom cupboard that Harry and Ron had spent one weekend fixing up.

Harry fell back chatting to Neville as they traipsed into the Burrow to wash up before dinner. Mrs Weasley had given up on trying to get them to finish their matches before dinner. There was no real end of the matches, just eventually everyone became distracted and stopped playing. Now she summoned them in ten minutes before she was ready to serve dinner.

Harry washed the mud off his hands and watched Ron help Hermione pick out the leaves that had gotten stuck in her thick curly hair when she fell off her broom. The three of them didn’t quite fit comfortably in the small bathroom, but after months together in the tent, personal space wasn’t crucial with them.

Rubbing a smudge of dirt on his nose, Ron grinned. “Good thing you don’t fly high enough for it to ever hurt.” Harry laughed, and Hermione merely rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t hide the fond smile on her face.

“There’s more to life than being good at Quidditch,” she huffed. Harry and Ron both flew into a tirade about how Quidditch was holding wizarding society together at this precarious moment in history. Hermione was saved by Luna waltzing into the bathroom and announcing that Mrs Weasley expected them to help set the table.

“We could have been doing something in there,” Ron muttered, shooting Luna a look as they skulked into the kitchen.

“And what would we have been doing in there exactly?” Harry asked, picking up a platter of potatoes as Ron shrugged.

“Don’t know, but that’s not the point,” Ron shrugged as he grabbed the chicken, leaving Hermione to take the vegetables.

They didn’t eat dinner together every night at the dining room table, but Mrs Weasley loved having so many to cook for again. At first she’d tried to refuse to take their money for groceries, but then Harry and the others had simply started buying things. Harry had told her and Arthur that this wasn’t about pride but them wanting to feel part of a family, and they couldn’t if they were always the guests.

Mrs Weasley refused to let them levitate the food onto the table in case they dropped it. Ron always muttered about how he was pretty sure if they could take down a Dark Lord, they could be trusted to levitate some plates. “You’re not facing You-Know- Voldemort now,” was all Molly would snap in response. Silence would then fall as she hurried off so Ron wouldn’t see her cry, and Harry would be forced to make dumb and loud conversation until they reached the rest of the group and Ron could be distracted by their antics instead.

The dinner table chat was easy and carefree as usual. It wasn’t as if anyone had ever specifically said that difficult conversations were forbidden at the dinner table, but it had become an unwritten rule nonetheless. Harry let himself be sucked into a conversation with Ron and Seamus about their favourite Trelawney moments. Harry’s was still when she’d predicted he would live a long and happy life, as a ‘fuck you’ to Umbridge. Hermione was trying not to strangle Luna over some creature that probably didn’t exist, but Harry was willing to let Luna live in her world; it seemed happier there. He couldn’t hear Ginny and Dean, but he pushed down a flash of jealousy as they leaned in close and laughed together. He was with Ginny, and the fresh line of hickeys up her neck proved that. He knew it was cruel of him to demand Ginny’s attention when he couldn’t fully return it, but she made him feel safe.

“No, Arthur the purpose of-”

Harry tuned out Neville’s words as quickly as he’d tuned in. There was no need to spend dinner having a Herbology lesson. Harry had never cared about it when he had to study it, let alone when he was trying to enjoy his meal. Neville felt about strange plants the way Hagrid did about dangerous creatures, and you only made the mistake of getting too close to one of Neville’s plants once. It had taken Harry days to stop smelling of dung after he’d somehow angered one of the plants. He couldn’t remember the plant’s name, in part  because he didn’t care and in part because Neville insisted on using their fancy Latin names.

“Want another drink?” Harry asked Ron, who nodded and followed him into the kitchen. Ron was one of the few whose silence Harry found comforting rather than suffocating.

“God, I’m stuffed,” Ron groaned as he shoved a leftover potato in his mouth. “I swear mum gets better at cooking with every meal she makes.” Harry could only nod in agreement;  he had yet to be disappointed by Molly’s cooking.

The sun was setting, casting the kitchen in an orange glow as Harry poured himself another glass of Coke. He couldn’t believe that wizards didn’t have Coke. It had only occurred to him a couple of weeks ago when he had been hit by a strange craving for it. Forcing the pure-bloods to try it had been something he hoped never to forget: Neville’s twisted face before he tasted it had had them all howling with laughter. Ginny had spat hers out and wrinkled her nose before declaring that Muggles were weird.

A knock sounded at the door as they chattered aimlessly, and Ron flicked his wand at the door without looking to open it.

Harry turned to greet their guests, presuming it was other members of Dumbledore’s Army who often came to the Burrow for dinner, when the words died in his throat. Catching Harry’s expression, Ron spun around to see who it was and let out a squawk.

Nothing in Harry’s nearly eighteen years of life could have readied him for the sight that greeted him of Pansy Parkinson flanked by Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott. The two groups stared at each other blankly for a moment, Ron and Harry’s faces the pictures of shock and the Slytherins’ haughty and expressionless.

Pansy cleared her throat and stepped forward, “I’m here on behalf on Narcissa Malfoy who is unable to be here due to being on compulsory house arrest.” Her voice wavered, but Harry still found himself unable to form words.

“I don’t give a fuck-” Ron started pushing in front of Harry, clearly remembering the last cruel words they’d heard out of Pansy’s pink mouth. She’d been willing to turn him over to Voldemort. She had wanted to save herself.

Pansy ignored Ron and began again, “I have come on the behalf of Narcissa Malfoy to call in the life debt owed to her by Harry Potter.”

Harry blinked and tried to form a coherent thought. The rest of Burrow occupants came running in response to Ron’s shout, but Harry didn’t stop staring at Pansy as the safe haven he had built crumpled around him.

* * *

 Pansy Parkinson deserved credit for keeping her cool in the ensuing chaos.  She stood there unflinching while the chorus of outraged shouts began and refused to look anywhere but at Harry.

Ginny was the first to draw her wand, her infamous Bat Bogey hex flying at Pansy’s head. Ginny’s face was sharpened by rage that only deepened when the hex rebounded off the shield charm the Slytherins had clearly set up before knocking. Blaise Zabini had the nerve to smirk at this, and it was only Molly Weasley’s intervention that stopped a full-on brawl from breaking out

“Get off my property before I call the Aurors,” Molly growled, her own face painted with rage and grief. Her wand was drawn and shaking. Harry was sure that for a moment everyone stopped breathing; he certainly did.

“I am here on behalf of Narcissa Malfoy-”

“You think we care what that Death Eater whore wants?” Seamus sneered.

Pansy’s cool exterior cracked, and she snarled at Seamus, “Just because you don’t like her doesn’t mean you have to be a sexist pig.” Seamus’s mouth snapped shut and twisted into an ugly sneer worthy of Malfoy himself. Nott’s face remained impassive, but Zabini raised an eyebrow as he regarded them all. It made Harry’s blood boil. Who did Zabini think he was? Letting out a sigh and a huff of “men,” Pansy stepped closer to Harry, eyes only briefly flicking to where Hermione stood, wand raised. “You owe Narcissa a life debt.”

Harry’s jaw clenched as he did everything he could not to hear that cool voice echo in his head. _Dead_. The lie that had changed the tide of the war, the lie that had allowed him to defeat Voldemort.

“Who gives a fuck?” Ron snapped, glowering down at Pansy. He had to be nearly a foot taller than her. “We all owe Harry a fucking life debt as he saved us all!” If it weren’t for the situation, Harry imagined Molly would have cuffed Ron around the head for his language. Harry ducked his head, hating being reminded that people thought they owed him. Yes, he’d died for them, but he’d had to. That hadn’t been the hard part, the hard part had been coming back. Ron continued, “He killed Voldemort remember? Harry, who you wanted to hand over to Voldemort to save your own ugly skin, saved all your arses anyway.”

Pansy flinched for the first time in the conversation, and she shut her eyes, letting out a soft sigh. Zabini’s eyes flickered to her before returning to gaze at them all coolly. “I know I made a mistake and I regret my words,” she said.

“That’s such a shitty Slytherin attempt at an apology,” Dean snorted from somewhere behind Harry, causing Seamus to let out a cold dry laugh.

“Look, Parkinson,” Harry started dragging a hand through his messy hair. He hadn’t cut it in a long time, and he could tie it up in a messy bun now. In contrast, Pansy had cut her long dark hair into a sleek bob. “I don’t know why you thought you could just turn up here, but I’d rather you just leave.” Harry rolled his wand in his fingers. He knew it wouldn’t come to a duel, but it comforted him to be prepared.

“You heard Harry,” Ron said.

Harry turned to leave, and the Weasleys and Dumbledore’s Army fell back to let him pass by.

“The only reason you’re alive, all of you, is because of Narcissa Malfoy!” Pansy shouted desperately as Arthur went to shut the door in her face. She banged it out the way with her shoulder and glowered at them all. Harry froze as Pansy said, “She is enacting the old magic of the life debt and makes only one request of you, Potter.”

Harry turned around and stared at the Slytherins. Nott’s bottom lip was trembling, but Zabini and Pansy remained cold. “I don’t care,” Harry said.

Arthur stepped forward and ignored the sneers the Slytherins shot him. Ron, however, noticed them and it was only Hermione grabbing his arm that stopped him from throwing punches. “You will please leave our property now,” Arthur said.

“She wants you to save Draco! The Ministry want to put him on trial and they want him to receive the Kiss!” Pansy’s face crumpled at the words, and Zabini put a hand on her shoulder, his haughty expression daring any of them to comment. He needn’t have bothered for Pansy’s words had sucked all of the air out of the room. “Save him Potter, please,” Pansy begged.

And maybe it was seeing the mighty Slytherins reduced to pleading, maybe it was the desperation that he could read in their eyes and see in the stubborn sets of their mouths, or maybe it was Hermione’s hand on his shoulder as if she knew what he’d do already.

Harry sighed and pushed his glasses up his nose as he stood back and gestured to the dining room, “Come in.” Ron made a spluttering noise behind him, but Harry ignored it. He wanted this nightmare to be over, and then he wanted to go to bed with Ginny and a large bottle of firewhiskey.

“Thank you,” Pansy said primly, snub nose up in the air as she marched through the group and into the dining room. Noticing Hermione’s conflicted face, Harry reached over and squeezed her hand; this couldn’t be easy for her. Pansy had been a right bitch to her throughout Hogwarts.

“I can’t believe how many Slytherins are in my bloody house,” Ron muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets as he fell into step beside Harry and Hermione.

“Tell me about it,” Arthur sighed, pushing his thinning red hair off his face and pulling a laugh out of the group. It diffused some of the tension and took the edge off the room. Seamus and Ginny no longer looked quite so murderous, and Neville no longer looked like he was going to vomit. The Slytherins in the dining room may not have been the bullies that Malfoy and his gang were, but they were certainly no better.

Harry stared at Pansy, who was inspecting her nails as if she weren’t  surrounded by a group of people who hated her. Nott was the only one showing any signs of stress, and Zabini merely regarded the house as if it were beneath him. Harry’s jaw clenched. He supposed someone like Zabini wouldn’t appreciate the love and beauty of the Burrow; it was to Harry the best place in the world, bar Hogwarts.

“So,” Pansy sighed after the silence had stretched on a couple of moments longer than was comfortable. Ginny bristled beside Harry at Pansy’s voice. “Am I going to be allowed to explain myself succinctly, or is this going to take longer than necessary because you lot insist on interrupting every other word?” Pansy asked coldly. Harry scowled, and he had a feeling he was not the only one.

“I hardly think we owe you our time,” Ginny replied, flicking her hair over her shoulder as she leaned closer to Pansy across the table, a mocking smile on her lips.

The two girls sized each other up, and then Pansy flicked her eyes back to Harry and shrugged. “I’m literally only here for Potter so...” The smile fell from Ginny’s face, and her dark eyes flashed at Pansy’s dismissal. Harry was struck for the thousandth time that for all the pure-blood talk of etiquette, they had the people skills of Hippogriffs. He caught Zabini’s dark eyes and noticed the other boy’s mouth quirk. He was filled with a sense of dread as he realised he and Zabini had just thought the same thing. Today really was a strange day. Harry dragged his hands through his hair and sighed.

“Just get on with it, Parkinson,” he demanded.

He had to confess he hadn’t thought of Malfoy since seeing with his parents in the Great Hall after the Battle of Hogwarts. The blond boy had looked so utterly broken and defeated that Harry had merely nodded at Narcissa in thanks and scurried off. Malfoy was an arsehole, a bully, and a coward, but his mother had changed the tide of the war. She had done it all for him. Harry remembered that day in Malfoy Manor when Malfoy had refused to identify Harry to Lucius. There was no way Malfoy hadn’t recognised him -- and Ron and Hermione hadn’t even been disguised -- and Malfoy still hadn’t given a straight answer. He hadn’t been exactly brave, but he hadn’t turned them over to Voldemort either. It was rare that Harry’s nightmares featured the fiendfyre, but whenever it did it was never Malfoy he was trying to save. It would be Ron, Hermione, Ginny, or one of Harry’s other friends, and their fingers would slip away from his, and he would wake to sounds of screaming and the smell of burning flesh.

Pansy nodded and tapped her nails on the table. “So, as you all know the Ministry is currently holding the Death Eater trials.” Someone scoffed and whilst Nott’s face tightened, none of the Slytherins said anything. Kingsley would sometimes request Harry and the others come in and view evidence or give testimonies. As tiring as it was, it was a good way to fill time in the couple of months since the war. Harry liked feeling useful. It gave him a purpose.

Pansy continued, “Well, the Ministry really wants to nail the the big-name Death Eaters, and they’ve got to do it correctly with all the new reforms.”

Hermione nodded. She’d been involved in the discussion of the reforms before they officially tried any of the Death Eaters, so nothing like Sirius’s wrongful conviction or Lucius Malfoy buying his way out of Azkaban could happen again. The Ministry were determined to put the Death Eaters away for good this time.

“Anyway, with the press knowing about Draco’s— ” Pansy’s voice wavered at his name, and Nott’s face only twisted more, “—about Draco’s task from the Dark Lord himself and Lucius’s obvious involvement. There’s a lot of pressure to convict the Malfoys.”

“Good,” Neville muttered.

Zabini sneered, and Pansy bit her lip hard. “The trial is set for the end of the summer, and the Ministry wants life imprisonment for Narcissa and the Kiss for Draco and Lucius.” That heavy silence fell across the table again, and Harry became aware Pansy had bitten her lip not to keep herself from sneering but to stop herself crying. “Narcissa asks only that you save Draco.” Pansy’s voice was steady, and she held her chin high, Zabini gripping her shoulder tightly. Harry had heard that the Wizengamot was calling for the Kiss for the main Death Eaters to prevent them from breaking out of Azkaban and rising up again. The Wizengamot was calling it a “safety measure,” and he understood, but Malfoy was just a kid.

“Didn’t we save Malfoy enough during the battle?” Ron muttered.

“Please, Potter, you’re the only one who can save him.” Pansy’s voice had dropped to just above a whisper, and Harry became unsure of whom she was asking on behalf of now: a desperate mother or a girl in love with a boy.

Malfoy was cruel and cold with his haughty face that resembled his father too much, but he did not deserve the Kiss. He didn’t deserve life imprisonment either. He deserved a chance to turn his life around, to become a better person and give back to the society he had once been so keen to destroy. The blow to his pride would be punishment enough for Malfoy, Harry thought snidely.

“Didn’t they technically defect before the end of the battle?” Arthur sighed, an ugly look on his face at the mere thought of Lucius Malfoy.

“What about the fact he was underage when he committed the crimes?” Hermione’s voice of reason rang clear. “Surely his lawyer can argue he was just a child.”

“We were all children, and we didn’t join a death cult,” Neville muttered.

“You didn’t grow up with Lucius Malfoy as a father,” Zabini spoke for the first time, his tone cold and sharp. “I’m not saying what Draco did was right but...” he shrugged, his face remaining impassive. Zabini was harder to read than Hermione’s runes book.

Neville bristled. “I didn’t grow up with a father at all because of people like him! His Aunt actually!” His voice rose slowly risen as he spoke until he was shouting, his voice full of hatred and loathing.

“I am sorry for your suffering,” Zabini said, “but it wasn’t Draco who tortured your parents.”

“You can’t actually be planning to help these arseholes?” Neville demanded, spinning around and facing Harry. Harry understood Neville’s pain, and he wanted to laugh and say of course he wouldn’t, Malfoy had made his bed and now he had to lie in it. But Harry couldn’t. The words wouldn’t come out, because he couldn’t let Malfoy be given the Kiss even after every awful thing he’d done. Harry had witnessed Malfoy lowering his wand when facing Dumbledore, had seen the fear in Malfoy’s grey eyes that time at the Manor, and had felt his desperation in the Room of Requirement.

“He has no choice with Narcissa’s life debt,” Pansy stated.

“Not helping, love,” Zabini murmured. Pansy didn’t seem to care. She was clearly here to fulfil her purpose and then run back home; she had no interest in making friends, which was lucky as Harry had no interest in befriending any of them.

Harry sucked on his bottom lip and glanced up at Ron and Hermione. Ron scowled and then nodded, and Hermione offered him a weak but supportive smile. They had probably known what he would do the second Pansy told him that Malfoy’s life was at stake. They had most likely figured it out before he had.

“I’ll help,” he agreed finally, just managing to cut the silence off before it got too much, and he was thrown back into the Forest.

Pansy’s face lit up, and he saw hope in her eyes for the first time. Nott’s face twisted itself into an ugly expression of shock before he recovered. “Good, good,” Pansy hummed, all business now that everything was playing out the way she wanted… “If you’d like to come over to the Manor in the next couple of days you can meet with Narcissa and Draco, enact the life debt, and come up with a game plan. I’ll owl you.” She stood up and glanced around at everyone’s shocked faces. “Well I suppose you can bring your lackeys if you wish,” she added as an afterthought, waving dismissively at Ron and Hermione.

“We’re not going to the Manor!” Hermione shrieked, her dark face draining of colour and her curly hair sagging. Ron reached out and squeezed her hand. Harry knew he was grounding her, reminding her that she was here in the Burrow and not in the Manor under Bellatrix’s wand.

Pansy raised a well-groomed brow. “Well, seeing how the Malfoys are under warded house arrest, how do you suppose to meet them?”

Harry scowled. He didn’t like Pansy’s cold tone. “I’ll owl you, Parkinson.” She nodded and informed him that she looked forward to it before sweeping out with Zabini and Nott following. No one said anything as they stared at the spaces the Slytherins had just occupied. Ron was still clutching Hermione, and Ginny had now taken Harry’s hand, for which he was grateful.

“I’ll go get the firewhiskey,” Molly said, and Harry had never heard such sweet words in all his life.

Despite the nausea building as Harry stumbled up to bed, he could not bring himself to regret the amount of firewhiskey he had drunk, and it appeared to be a general consensus. What had started as a way to forget the Slytherins turned into a game of ‘Never Have I Ever Had a Slytherin’ where everyone tried to outdo each other in the stupidest or cruellest thing a Slytherin had done to them. Ron had won with the tale of Malfoy coming to the Hogwarts infirmary to mock him for being there under the pretence of borrowing a book. Ginny had argued the lengths Malfoy went to in the dining hall to get Harry to notice him, and for the first time Harry realized how strange it was that he and Malfoy had managed to argue from opposite sides of the Great Hall. He’d taken their mocking and jeering on the chin and simply curled up in Luna’s lap and let her card her fingers through his hair.

* * *

 

It was only when he was lying in bed later that Harry finally let himself think about Pansy’s request. Could you call it a request when someone demanded it due to a life debt? He rolled over and nuzzled his face into Ginny’s neck, smiling at the huff she gave him.

“What do you know about life debts, Gin?” he asked, pulling back and gazing at her. She looked radiant in the golden light of the fairy lights they’d strung up. Neither of them liked sleeping in the dark. He traced the constellation of her freckles and she sighed, wiping the sleep out of her eyes.

“Not much. You should probably ask Hermione for some research,” she yawned, and Harry felt a stab of guilt from not letting her sleep. “Old magic though, very important to pure-bloods.”

“But you’re pure-blood and-”

Ginny hushed him with a sleepy smile and placed her finger over his lips, “Blood traitors Harry, means we’re more than just Muggle lovers,” she snuggled in closer to him. “Weasleys haven’t followed pure-blood customs for a while.” He let out a laugh and wrapped his arms around her. It didn’t provide all the comfort he wanted; sometimes he felt like a starving man in a desert, and even Ginny’s touch couldn’t sate him. He needed more.

“I’ll speak to Hermione tomorrow,” he murmured into her hair, but she didn’t respond because she was already asleep.

Even with the whiskey in his bloodstream dulling his senses, Harry couldn’t just roll over and fall asleep. Every time he shut his eyes he saw Malfoy’s grey eyes brimming with fear and Pansy’s desperate face. He could hear Malfoy refusing to identify him, and Narcissa’s declaration of “Dead.” Mrs Weasley had banned Dreamless Sleep in the house after the first week of Harry living there, but George had snuck Harry some one weekend for desperate times. He’d hidden it in his moleskine bag and decided that more than anything, this was a desperate time. There were only so many Malfoys he could stand to have haunting him in his dreams. He fell asleep to the same nothingness death had promised, and he welcomed it.

* * *

 “Couldn’t we have this discussion after Seamus and Dean return with the hangover potion?” Ron croaked. His red hair stuck up all over the place, almost resembling Harry’s own messy hair.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron had snuck off to a corner of the Burrow’s garden to try have some privacy. It wasn’t as if they had anything to hide from the others anymore; however, years of the three of them against the world had made secrecy a habit, and also it was extremely difficult to concentrate with ten people offering their opinions on what he should do about this Malfoy thing.

Harry understood Ron’s plea, as this conversation was not made easier by his pounding head, but it was one he had to have with the two people he trusted most. “So, what have you found about life debts?”

Hermione held up a finger and kept reading the book in front of her, her curly hair tied up in a messy knot. Harry always thought she looked her most beautiful in study mode, and from the way Ron’s eyes fell on her, he could tell his best mate thought the same.

Ron stretched out in the sun, repeating the same words he’d said last night with a groan: “Didn’t we save Malfoy’s life enough in the Battle? Can’t the git figure out how to save himself?”

Harry laughed and played with the edge of his t-shirt. It was fraying and in desperate need of a wash. “He could get the Kiss, mate,” he frowned.

“He did nearly kill me in sixth year,” Ron said.

“I nearly killed him in sixth year,” Harry replied. Ron’s wrinkled nose suggested that he didn’t have a counter-argument to this besides the fact Harry had not successfully killed Malfoy, to which Harry would be forced to point out that Malfoy had not been trying to kill Ron and had failed anyway. Harry disliked the feeling in his gut that he got from defending Malfoy’s actions. “Dumbledore was willing to give him a second chance.” Harry had seen Malfoy lower his wand.

Ron huffed loudly, “We gave him a second chance when we saved him from the fire, and what did we find him doing later? Pleading to some Death Eater scum that he was on their side.”

Harry couldn’t argue with that point, so he just shrugged again. “When you’re as big a git as Malfoy, maybe you need more than just a second chance.” Ron just muttered something insulting under his breath and returned to tracing patterns idly along Hermione’s back.

A few minutes later, as Harry was about to drift off to sleep in the summer heat, Hermione sat bolt upright with a triumphant sound, causing both boys to let out startled grunts. She ignored them and pointed at the book. “I’ve found it. Honestly, I don’t know why I didn’t look in here sooner,” she muttered. Harry lounged back and let her mumble. He knew this was just the warmup to getting the information he wanted; being succinct was not a skill Hermione had yet mastered when presented with new information. “Anyway, life debts are an old and dangerous magic, and whilst pure-bloods are willing to use them to their advantage, it’s often seen as something shameful to owe a life debt to someone.” Her nose wrinkled at this as she kept scanning the page, “because it requires someone to put their pride aside.”

“Oi! Is Malfoy indebted to us?” Ron interrupted, but Hermione ignored him and kept talking.

“The person owing the life debt can only truly pay their debt by doing the owner of the debt a substantial favour, and the magic is evoked by-” She let out an excited gasp, “oh look there’s a ritual.” She muted her expression when she noticed Harry’s discomfort at any ritual linking him to Narcissa Malfoy. “The magic is strongest if it’s something the person wants to do because it means they won’t be fighting it the entire time. They do not have to successfully complete the favour for the debt to be broken as it is all about intention.” Her eyes were wide, and Harry had a feeling by the end of the week she would be an expert on life debts. “It’s all so complicated. There are loads of contradictions in this book alone.”

“Why would Malfoy’s mother pick Harry then? Surely, she’d presume he wouldn’t want to save Malfoy,” Ron asked.

“Well,” Hermione shot Harry a look that he knew meant his personality was going to be picked apart. “She knows Harry likes saving people due to the Sirius thing..." Her voice trailed off as Harry’s blood boiled; this was the woman who had helped lead Sirius to his death that night. It had been she who had manipulated Kreacher and told fucking Voldemort just how to get Harry to the Ministry. He didn’t bother protesting his “saving people” thing; he’d accepted it by now. He’d died for them all. “And in regard to Malfoy owing us for the fire, I think that’s all settled because of the night in the Manor when he didn’t turn us over.” Ron let out a disgruntled noise.

Swallowing his anger, Harry started plucking daisies from the ground and scowling. He wasn’t very good at swallowing his anger. Malfoy was a stupid pointy git whom he’d hoped never to see again. Harry had been sucking up his courage to owl Malfoy his wand and leave it at that: draw a neat, hard line under the pair of them and move on. Harry rubbed his face and sighed; Malfoy was always under his skin.

“I can’t not help him,” he murmured, the words barely audible as he stared at the daisy in his hand.

“I know, mate. He’s a right git but it’s the right thing to do.” The daisy caught fire as Harry failed to keep his shock hidden at Ron’s words. “Just because I hate the ferret, doesn’t mean I think he deserves the Kiss, really.” Harry focused his energy on putting the daisy out before he burnt himself; he could tell from Ron’s indignant tone that Hermione had been shocked too.

“I know,” Hermione nodded, taking Ron’s hand.

Harry smiled. He’d been worried the two idiots would lose each other before they figured out how to work themselves out, but he’d been wrong. Molly was pretty much already planning the wedding, and if it weren’t for both of their emotional trauma, Harry would be placing bets on it being before the end of the summer.

“I don’t want to go back to the Manor.” The fragility in Hermione’s voice plucked Harry from his happy thoughts and brought him crashing down.

Harry turned and faced his best friends; he still heard Hermione screaming in his dreams, and he knew they did as well. He didn’t want to go to the Manor either, but if the Malfoys were on house arrest then he would have to. “I won’t ask you to,” he promised, reaching out and taking her other hand. “I won’t ask either of you to.” It would be hard, but he would do it by himself, just as he had walked into the forest alone.

“We know you won’t,” Ron nodded, throwing his arm around Harry’s shoulder and giving him a grim smile, “but I’ll be there anyway.”

“Me too.”

Harry started to protest. They didn’t need to suffer more emotional trauma just because he apparently owed bloody Narcissa Malfoy a life debt and had a saving people complex.

Hermione held up a hand and silenced him. Her smile wavered, but her eyes were kind, “Get it in your head Harry, we will always be by your side.”

Harry didn’t have the words to say thank you, and he knew he didn’t need to; they knew. So he lay down, the three of them connected under the summer sun, and changed the subject to Hermione’s latest house elf and werewolf  rights tirade. The small smile remained on his face as she spoke because, for all his fears about them not needing him anymore since Hermione and Ron became a couple, they would always be there for him: the three of them together again against the rest of the world if it need be.

Dinner that night was a stilted affair made no better by Pansy’s owl swooping in and pecking Harry until he read the letter it was carrying. He wasn’t surprised  that Pansy’s owl was as much of a pushy bitch as her owner. Neville took one look at the letter and stormed out of the Burrow with Dean and Seamus chasing after him. There were three distinct apparition cracks, and Molly jumped to her feet to clean up the now abandoned places. Fucking Malfoy making Harry’s life difficult even from across the bloody country.

Harry caught Luna’s eyes, and she smiled at him. “Draco was kind to me when I was locked in the cellar,” she mused, “I think it would be cruel to take his soul when it has barely begun its journey.”

Ginny reached over and took Luna’s hand, and Harry recognised the anger in Ginny’s eyes. Ginny could be extremely protective of Luna and had just as much reason as the blonde to hate the Malfoy family. It was Lucius who had given Ginny the diary during her second year at Hogwarts, Lucius who had allowed her to be possessed by Voldemort. Harry felt his anger rise up again. The Malfoys had an ability to worm their way out of any tricky situation, and that’s what they were doing now: life debts instead of gold, all just a day’s work in the Malfoys’ manipulative lives.

Harry sighed and glanced back down at Pansy’s letter. Her writing was bubbly and large, and informed him that he should be at the Manor with his two guests at 11am on Monday to be allowed through the wards and meet with Narcissa and Draco.

“Wards?” Harry questioned as he passed the letter to Hermione, who scowled at Pansy’s writing before taking it.

Arthur coughed to draw their attention. “The Malfoys are under house arrest until their trial, as the Ministry doesn’t have the resources to imprison everyone, and the Malfoys can’t be sent to Azkaban without a trial.” This didn’t seem fair to Harry. He was sure Lucius Malfoy could get up to plenty of trouble merely locked inside his house. “So the Ministry will have to alter the wards to allow you through. It only needs to be done once.”

“So, you’re telling me that despite everything they’ve done, the Malfoys are just chilling in their Manor?” Ginny demanded.

“It was Voldemort’s headquarters for a year. I doubt they feel too at home anymore,” Luna hummed as she stared off into space. Harry had forgotten that, forgotten the displeasure on the Malfoys’ faces when Voldemort basically moved in. A stupid image of Voldemort walking up the Manor drive with his suitcases flicked through Harry’s mind, and despite everything, he smirked to himself. Ron elbowed him and raised his eyebrows, but Harry just waved him off. It was hardly worth repeating.

The conversation was brought to an abrupt stop by Molly sweeping in with a huge treacle tart that had Harry’s mouth watering and his mind pushing all unsavoury thoughts aside. Molly often did that. She wanted them all to be kids again, but they couldn’t. They had all been forced to fight and had all been through too much to ever be just kids again. Harry wasn’t going to be the one to shatter Molly’s hopeful bubble, so he took a large piece of pudding and shot her his best grin. The smile he got back made it all worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this at all please leave kudos or comment, it would honestly mean more than the world
> 
> i'm on tumblr [@gracie137blogs](http://gracie137blogs.tumblr.com)


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I hope you enjoy the second Chapter of 'Lost Children' and another shout out to my amazing beta. If you like it please comment or leave kudos cause it's so motivating!!

Standing in front of the gates of Malfoy Manor, Harry felt more uncomfortable than he had in a long time, and that wasn’t just because he’d slept at an odd angle.

Rubbing his neck, Harry glanced at his watch again; it was one minute to eleven, and he wanted this over and done with. He should have taken some pain potion, he thought, as he tried to turn to look at Hermione and Ron, causing a stab of pain in his neck.

Harry had awoken during the night to find Luna in his bed, and as usual when this happened, he had spent a couple of minutes trying to remember if she’d been there when he’d fallen asleep. Concluding she hadn’t, he had rolled over and tried to fall back to sleep, a feat that was more difficult than he ever liked because Ginny’s bed barely held the two of them, let alone another person.

He’d given up at dawn - having achieved barely enough fitful hours of sleep - and trudged downstairs to find Hermione already reading on the sofa.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she had mumbled, tucking a curl behind her ear and gesturing for him to join her. She hadn’t had to tell him it was because of the thought of returning to the Manor. Harry had curled up on the sofa beside her, reading over her shoulder until it was time to get ready.

“This is one of the places I hoped to never have to see again,” Ron mumbled, “not to mention the people inside.” Harry nodded in agreement; not ever seeing a Malfoy again had been one of his post-war hopes.

“Speaking of people I never wanted to see again,” Hermione said as a black head stalked towards them, two individuals flanking her.

Pansy hadn’t bothered with robes today, and Harry noticed her skirt left little to the imagination before forcing his gaze away. It felt wrong to admire Pansy Parkinson even if she did have a great pair of legs.

Pansy merely nodded at them, keeping her nose in the air as she gestured for the Ministry officials to get on with taking down the wards.

“Hello Mr Potter, Mr Weasley, Miss Granger. I’m Auror Osbourne,” a severe looking woman greeted them. Her brown hair was scraped into a tight bun, and she reminded Harry of McGonagall. “Miss Parkinson tells me you wish to enter the Manor and speak to Narcissa Malfoy.” To her credit, Auror Osbourne managed to keep a nearly completely neutral face, only a flicker of a sneer curling her mouth at Pansy’s name.

The second official did nothing but gape at Harry. It was a feeling he hadn’t yet gotten used to, and he didn’t think he ever would.

Harry had tried only once to go into Diagon Alley since the Battle at Hogwarts, but within minutes the news had spread that he was there and people were running to him, crying and gushing, begging him to let them thank him. When they’d started chanting “Saviour” it had become too much, and he’d apparated out of there — though not before Ron had started swearing and threatening to hex the next person who got too close. The _Prophet_ had had a field day with that one. Harry hadn’t left the Burrow since, except to go to the Ministry or Muggle areas.

“May you tell me what your business at the Manor is? We all know you’re not exactly a Malfoy sympathiser,” Osbourne said.

Pansy’s lip curled at the comment, and it seemed she was doing everything she could to stop herself from snapping at Osbourne and telling her exactly where she could stick her opinion.

Harry didn’t have to like the Malfoys to tell they were currently being treated as slightly better than filth. Arthur had told them last night that the Ministry was trying to pretend the Malfoys didn’t exist until it was time for their trials. They had locked them up in their own home and tried to forget about them.

It was no secret that Harry didn’t like Ministry officials. They hadn’t given him much reason to in the past, and he wasn’t about to go confessing what he was doing here to this woman he didn’t know. He crossed his arms and shrugged. “Narcissa saved my life, I want to speak to her.”

The _Prophet_ had come up with some theories of its own when it was leaked that Narcissa had lied to Voldemort. Ginny had framed a clipping that suggested that Draco had been dating Harry, and their rivalry was all a façade. Public sympathy for the Malfoys had lasted about one day until someone from Hogwarts leaked the truth about what Malfoy had been doing sixth year, attempted murder and Imperius curse included.

Osbourne stared at Harry, narrowing her eyes and pressing her lips together before sighing, “Of course, Mr Potter.” She turned and tutted at her partner, who had just about managed to pick his jaw up off the floor. Ron snorted. “Henley here, once he learns how to be competent, will adjust the wards to let you in if you just give him your wands.”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione complied, and Henley got to work despite the blush that covered his cheeks.

“Now before you enter you should know that no magic is permitted on the premise, and the wards mean no magic can be cast.” Osbourne sounded bored as she prattled off the rules. “Once the wards allow you entry, you will be able to come and go as you please.” Her tone made it apparent she had no idea why anyone would want to visit the Malfoys. “But know that the wards will pick up any disguises, so they only will allow your magical signature, which no spell or potion can mimic.” As if they’d been planning on sneaking disguised Death Eaters into the Manor. Harry rolled his eyes. Auror Osbourne taught them the access spell before stepping back and gesturing to the Manor. “Enjoy your visit.”

Harry nodded, and Ron murmured a weak _thank you_ as they stared at the now open Manor gates. No one moved, and Harry could feel Hermione shaking behind him; he wanted to turn around and beg her not to come.

“You lot coming?” Pansy asked, arching an elegant brow and examining her nails as if they were inconveniencing her.

“Do-” Harry started, before stopping in shock as Hermione nodded and marched over the boundary before pausing, her brown eyes wide and her jaw dropping.

“You can feel it,” she murmured.

Pansy sighed, “Horrid, I know.”

Harry and Ron shot each other a look before following Hermione over the boundary.

Harry felt it the second he passed through the wards. The initial sensation was similar to the way he felt in the presence of a Dementor. He pulled out his wand, heart thudding as he tried to spot the dark creature… but there was nothing. Glancing around, he became aware that it wasn’t soul-sucking misery he felt, just an emptiness, as though he’d lost a crucial part of himself. Hermione was trembling, and Ron had turned a nasty shade of green.

“What have you done?” Harry snarled, whirling around to face Pansy, refusing to lower his wand.

Licking her lips, Pansy regarded his wand. “Put it away, Potter, it’s useless.” When he refused, she rolled her eyes and muttered about Gryffindors. “Didn’t you hear Osbourne? There’s no magic here,” she said slowly, as though speaking to an idiot.

The realisation hit Harry slowly and then all at once, like a punch to the gut. The wards had smothered or stripped him of his magic. He gave his wand a flick and nothing happened. The Malfoys weren’t just being forced to live as Muggles; this was worse. There was a difference between not being able to use magic and not having any. The first was infuriating but tolerable, because it was always there burning like fire through his veins, ready to be called upon if needed. However, the latter… he felt hollow. He felt stripped bare and more vulnerable than he had when he walked into that forest to die.

He pocketed his wand and noticed Ron still waving his despite knowing it would be useless. Ron glanced up, eyes wide and features contorted. “Can we go now?” he mouthed, and Harry shook his head.

He turned to Pansy, who was waiting. When he met her eyes, she gave him what he presumed was the closest they were going to get to a comforting smile. “You get used to it,” she said, before walking down the entrance towards the Manor.

“I don’t think I want to get used to it,” Harry murmured, and Hermione hummed in agreement as they followed Pansy.

Despite the awful memories that plagued the place and the heavy atmosphere that Harry couldn’t ignore, the Manor grounds were beautiful and sweeping. Flowers of different colours bloomed, perfectly trimmed hedges were placed artistically, and a fountain tinkled in the background.

“Is that a fucking peacock?”

Harry let out a bark of laughter at the distaste in Ron’s voice and turned to see where his best mate was looking. Ron was right; there was a white peacock strutting around the grounds as if he owned the place. In fact, there was not just one peacock but a whole herd of them. Harry caught Ron’s eye, and they both bent over laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation.

Hermione giggled. “How tasteful,” she managed to get out before she too was howling with laughter. It felt good to laugh. It distracted them all from the hollowness of where their magic should have been and of the weight of the memories the place held.

“Pet peacocks,” Ron wheezed as they started to recover a couple of moments later.

Pansy cleared her throat. “Are you all quite done?”

Ron had the look on his face that he’d worn when Moody had turned Malfoy into a ferret.

“Fucking Gryffindors,” Pansy said, rolling her eyes before barking at them to keep up as they were now late to see Narcissa.

Ron let her walk a few steps away before murmuring in Harry’s ear, “Wait ‘till I tell Ginny that Malfoy’s a peacock fucker.” Harry snickered as he scurried to keep pace with Ron’s long legs. Hermione threw them a withering glance. It was clear she was trying to divorce her emotions from the proceedings. Go in and deal with the situation head on and then get out as soon as possible. It seemed the wisest approach, and so they let Pansy Parkinson lead them into Malfoy Manor.

* * *

 

It was only when he was sitting in the drawing room opposite Narcissa Malfoy that Harry realised the extent to which he was fucked. He couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t the soft green sofa he felt beneath him but the prickle of leaves and twigs; he was back on the forest floor.

“I’m so glad you came to see me, Mr Potter,” Narcissa said, brushing her long blonde hair back. He remembered the feel of it on his face when she’d asked him if Draco were alive. Harry was alive because of this woman; they were all alive because of her. His chest hurt.

He shrugged and stared anywhere but at Malfoy’s mother. “Not like I had much choice.”

“No, you didn’t,” she said, an amused tinkle to her voice, and Harry found himself looking at Narcissa unwillingly. She no longer wore the expression that made her look like she was smelling dung, but she was still far from Molly Weasley’s open and welcoming face. Narcissa was all cold, sharp lines, and she was beautiful in an ethereal way. She could not disguise the dark circles under her eyes that were not unlike the ones Malfoy got when he was under stress. She was in a loose gown, and there was no obvious finery on her, and yet she radiated power. Unlike her sister Andromeda -- there was little trace of Bellatrix in Narcissa’s face -- yet all three women shared that haughty beauty. “I believe Pansy explained why I wanted to see you.”

Pansy shot him a weak smile from where she was curled up next to Narcissa. Unlike Harry, Pansy looked completely at ease, apart from the fact she was chewing her nails. Her worry was written in the crease in her brow.

“She mentioned you want to call in the life debt I owe you,” Harry choked out. The words stuck in his mouth. Hermione gripped his hand, still trembling. She had been tortured here in this very Manor for daring to be Muggle-born, and here she was once again surrounded by people who had wished her dead only a few weeks ago. People who still probably wished her dead.

Narcissa nodded and stood up. Ron jumped up, putting himself between her and his friends. Narcissa levelled him a look. “Would you like a cup of tea before we continue the conversation?” Harry flashed back to McGonagall offering him a biscuit that time he got in trouble with Umbridge, and stared blankly at Narcissa. “I always find conversation is more civilised with a cup of tea,” Narcissa said, as she waited for them to respond.

Harry had lost the ability to form words, and it appeared that so had his friends. _“I’d_ love one,” Pansy said, pushing herself to her feet and rolling her eyes at the three of them. He imagined that he, Hermione, and Ron looked like gormless idiots, but Harry couldn’t seem to do anything else. “I’ll go make it.” Narcissa thanked her, and Pansy swept out of the room.

“What happened to your house-elves?” Ron blurted out.

Narcissa regarded him coolly. “The Ministry confiscated them, and their magic doesn’t work inside the wards.”

Narcissa sat down and smoothed a crease out of her dress “So — ” her face held a neutral expression that Harry would never be able to master even if he tried his entire life; burying his emotions was not a skill he’d ever possessed.

“What exactly is it you’re asking of Harry?” Hermione interrupted, chin raised, as she dared Narcissa to make a comment about her blood status. Narcissa’s cool mask didn’t change as she shifted her eyes to Hermione.

“I am asking him to save my son,” Narcissa replied, “I am asking Mr Potter to do everything he can to save my son from the Kiss, and from Azkaban, and from himself.” For the first time that masked cracked just enough to let her desperation seep through.

“Not you?” Ron looked vaguely embarrassed about his outburst, but scowled at Narcissa when she regarded him in a bored manner.

“No, not me or my husband.” She brushed an invisible piece of dirt off her dress and crossed her hands. Harry couldn’t help but let his jaw drop - here was Narcissa Malfoy willing to give her life for her son’s, and he couldn’t believe it. Sure, Malfoy was her son, but he was hardly the pinnacle of human existence. “I believe it is time we paid for our --” she paused as she searched for the right word, “--mistakes, but my son does not deserve that.”

“Mistakes?” Harry scoffed. “You followed a genocidal maniac and so did your son!” He felt that familiar anger pouring through him, and it was soothing. He knew how to work with the anger, and it filled the emptiness where his magic should have been. At least there was the silver lining that he couldn’t accidentally set the Malfoys’ drawing room on fire, as he had a tendency to do when angry.

“I am aware of what I have done with my life, and I am also perfectly aware of what my son has done,” Narcissa said, holding up a hand and stopping Harry from interrupting. She didn’t need magic to silence them. Her mere existence was intimidating. “But I want Draco to have a chance to make his own choices and not just follow blindly. I want him to have a chance to live.” She licked her lips. “He was just a child.” She met all of their eyes. “You were all just children.”

Though the word _sorry_ had not crossed her lips, Harry understood that this was the closest Narcissa Malfoy could come to an apology. He had seen the Malfoys at the end. They had been afraid of Voldemort. It had not been the marvellous rise to power they anticipated, but a bloody one. Voldemort was not a leader but a master who didn’t care who suffered as he made his way to the top.

Pansy bustled back in with a tray containing a silver tea pot and intricate silver mugs. She offered them all a cup, but they refused. Harry knew Narcissa Malfoy wasn’t going to poison her one chance of saving her son, but he didn’t put it past her to put something in the tea. Once a Slytherin, always a Slytherin.

“Suit yourself,” Pansy muttered, pouring Narcissa a cup and then one for herself. Pansy’s  lipstick smudged around the rim.

“So, do you want Harry to speak at Mal- to speak at Draco’s trial?” Hermione asked. It sounded weird to hear Draco’s name in her mouth. He had always been Malfoy, or at the least, Draco Fucking Malfoy — never just Draco. It seemed too civil given their relationship with Malfoy. He blanched at the thought of Malfoy calling him Harry.

Narcissa set her cup down, “Yes, but that will not be enough.”

“You can’t just demand things of Harry!” Ron growled, and Harry once again was reminded that he had struck a goldmine with his friends. The thought of being here and dealing with Narcissa alone made him feel sick. His chest tightened again, and he frowned, unsure of when it had relaxed.

“I am not demanding, but requesting,” Narcissa corrected. Ron looked ready to argue, but she continued speaking and didn’t give him the chance. “I have spoken to our lawyer,” (Since when had the Malfoys had a lawyer? Who would take their case?) “and she says that since what occurred in the forest is public knowledge, your statement may seem coerced.” Harry refrained from pointing out that’s exactly what his statement would be. “Thus, the best way forward is for you to spend time with Draco, to get to know him and help guide him in the right direction. The only way he can avoid a sentence is if the Saviour himself sees potential in Draco, proof that he can be worthwhile in society. Otherwise, the wizarding world will never let him move past the mark on his arm,” she paused, “There is no place in this new world for the values we instilled in Draco, and I seek your help, Mr Potter, in helping him adapt to the changes.”

Harry wasn’t sure who was in more shock, he or Ron. Harry had presumed he’d be asked to attend the trial and say that Malfoy didn’t deserve that fate the Ministry wanted for him, and then Harry could move on. He hadn’t anticipated Narcissa’s will for Malfoy to not only be let off, but to be given a chance in the post-Voldemort world they were trying to build, to have Harry help Malfoy see past his prejudices.

Hermione scowled at Narcissa as if trying to find a loophole, before sighing, “It makes sense.” Hermione’s irritation at this statement was apparent. “However, I don’t think your son deserves that much of Harry’s time.”

“I do not care what you think my son deserves,” Narcissa said softly, yet her voice echoed around the drawing room.

Harry snarled, “I won’t help you if you insult my friends!”

Narcissa sighed, “It is not because of your blood status, Miss Granger, that I don’t care.” She paused and let the words sink in, a terrifying smile curling at her lips when she realised that they didn’t believe her. “Perhaps if you have children you will understand.” She met Harry’s eyes. Her own eyes were bright blue, unlike her son’s grey ones. There was little of Malfoy in Narcissa’s face, and that made Harry feel more comfortable.

“Where’s your husband?” he demanded.

The smile slipped from her lips, and her face went back to her haughty mask. “He is upstairs in his study. I felt you would feel more comfortable in this meeting without his presence.”

Harry would have felt more comfortable without either of their presences, but he appreciated the thought. He had seen the senior Malfoys running around wandless and screaming themselves hoarse during the Battle as they searched for Malfoy, but he could not look past what Lucius had done to Ginny or what he had tried to do in the Department of Mysteries.

“Where’s Malfoy?”

“He’s upstairs as well. Now shall we get on to sealing the agreement?”

“Absolutely not!” Ron fumed.

“You’re an intelligent witch aren’t you, Miss Granger? I presume you can perform the spell we require.” Having Hermione oversee the spell was an attempt to build trust. Harry presumed Pansy must have suggested it. “I also have our lawyer and an official waiting to help us get around the pesky no-magic problem.” Harry didn’t want to know how much they’d paid that Ministry official for his help and silence.

Harry wrinkled his nose. “Can’t you just trust my word?” He left off _and count yourself lucky I’m fucking here at all._

“No. My apologies Mr Potter, but when it comes to Draco I will not take any risks.” Harry had the feeling that Narcissa had never been less sorry for anything in her life. “Now Pansy dear, let’s step outside and give them a moment to discuss.” Pansy shot them a sharp look before following Narcissa Malfoy out of the drawing room. It was only when the door shut behind them that Harry felt as if he could breathe again.

Ron curled up on the sofa, looking more exhausted than he had in weeks. “This bloody family.” Harry nodded. “Why is Parkinson even here?” Ron added.

“Malfoy’s friend?” Harry suggested. He didn’t know either. He wanted to know where Draco was.

“Thank god, I brought the book,” Hermione was muttering as she dug about in her bag. “I can’t believe her nerve, bribing a Ministry official to go around the wards, all for Malfoy.” She sighed and tucked a dark curl behind her ear. “You know what she’s asking you right, Harry?”

“Yeah, save Malfoy from the Kiss and Azkaban,” he shrugged. He didn’t think it would be too difficult. At least being pegged the Saviour meant he had a lot of weight at the Ministry.

Hermione shook her head. “She told you to save Malfoy from himself. To get him off, he’s got to be genuinely remorseful for his actions and to change his outlook on life.”

“Wait, so Harry has to completely change Malfoy’s personality?” Ron scoffed, “Good luck, mate.”

“Why would she want me to change her son? She was as much a believer in pure-blood superiority as her dick of a husband,” Harry said.

“Slytherin is all about adapting and self-preservation. She knows Malfoy won’t survive a day if he doesn’t change.”

Ron groaned and dropped his head onto Hermione’s shoulder. “Fucking Malfoys.” Harry could only laugh weakly in agreement.

Malfoy had been groomed from a child to believe he was special and above others, not just for being a Malfoy but also as a pure-blood. And now Harry had two months to try and change that conditioning, to try and get Malfoy to act like a decent human being. Harry hadn’t even known that Malfoy had feelings until that day in the bathroom during sixth year, and Harry admittedly had not handled that well. He dropped his head into his hands, and Ron patted him on the back.

“It’s very simple, Harry. It’s a bit like an Unbreakable Vow except it won’t kill you,” Hermione added, quickly noticing their shock. “It’s to equalise any debt you may have due to her saving your life. It’s born out of obligation, and the magic will just nudge you to try complete it.” She scanned the page. “It’s relatively harmless.”

Pansy opened the door. “Are you ready yet?”

Harry nodded. He was as ready as he was ever going to be for this shit-task. He’d rather take on Voldemort again. He couldn’t believe he’d died only to come back to life and be told to babysit Malfoy. The universe was cruel, and maybe Harry should have stayed dead.

Narcissa swept in with a plump old man and a woman in a neat suit. “Mr Potter and Miss Granger, would you come here please?” They stood up and shuffled over to her. Harry felt like a naughty child ready to be scolded by his mother. He felt a flash of sympathy for Malfoy growing up in this stifled house; he’d had no chance of becoming a decent human being in this environment. It felt like a museum.

Ron followed them and crossed his arms, looking ready to fight anyone who suggested he go elsewhere.

Narcissa turned to the old man and smiled. “Mr Sutton, would you alter the wards just in this room?”

He nodded eagerly and pulled out his wand, muttering. Harry had no doubt he was one of Lucius’s old colleagues; he looked smarmy enough to be bought. It wasn’t until Harry felt his magic awaken that he realised how empty he was without it. He normally never thought about it, but since entering the wards he realised that he could always feel it humming away. He closed his eyes and let it fill him up. Narcissa’s eyes fluttered, and he realised that this could be the first time she’d felt magic since being locked away here. He didn’t feel sorry for her, but he imagined it must be horrible.

“You have two minutes before the wards drop back in place or the Ministry will be alerted,” Sutton instructed.

Narcissa nodded and turned to Hermione, whose dark skin was glowing from the return of her magic. “Would you like to proceed, Miss Granger?”

Harry thought he was going to be sick as Hermione pulled a small knife from her bag. She tried to give him a comforting smile, but it was too wobbly. This had to be the stupidest thing he’d ever done. He was binding himself to Narcissa Malfoy. He was definitely going to be sick. Hermione had explained it would be better if he did it voluntarily than if Narcissa called on Dark life debt magic and forced him, but even knowing this was his choice didn’t make him feel that much better.

Hermione had been right; the spell was harmless. She pricked both their fingers and they clasped hands. His own hand felt dry and calloused against Narcissa’s smooth one. He wondered if she noticed.

Hermione began speaking: “Narcissa Walburga Malfoy, please state your terms of the life debt you wish Harry James Potter to fulfil in order to return to neutral ground.” Harry cringed at the reference to Sirius’s mother.

“I ask that you do everything within your power to save my son, Draco Lucius Malfoy, from the Kiss, Azkaban, and himself, and help him adjust to life after the war.” Her blue eyes were pleading and desperate.

“Do you, Harry James Potter, accept Narcissa Walburga Malfoy’s terms?”

“I do,” he whispered, and he felt something deep inside him tug. He would help Malfoy because the git didn’t deserve to become the example the Ministry was trying to make of him. Harry knew it was him thinking that and not the magic. The fact that the spell couldn’t alter his real feelings made him feel a bit better. _Draco Malfoy is a twat_ , he thought with a wry smile.

“Then the agreement is made, and the debt is settled regardless of the outcome,” Hermione said, waving her wand and stepping back. Harry let go of Narcissa’s hand and moments later felt the stifling wards return.

“Thank you, Mr Potter, I will not forget this act,” Narcissa nodded as she slipped that polite mask back over her face. “Perhaps you will show our guests to Draco’s quarters?” She instructed Pansy, who pulled a face.

“That was fucking weird,” Ron muttered, and he could have sworn he saw Narcissa’s mouth twitch in amusement. Fucking weird to say the least.

* * *

 

Pansy didn’t say anything as she marched through the Manor corridors to wherever Malfoy was hiding. Harry thought it was strange that Malfoy hadn’t been there for the negotiations and the ceremony. He supposed Malfoy’s presence would have made the entire experience even less tolerable. They’d always been able to get under each other’s skin far too easily.

The Manor was like a museum, beautiful and extravagant, yet cold. There was no warmth here, unlike the Burrow, which was cluttered and tatty and welcoming. He supposed it was not too unlike like the difference between Molly and Narcissa themselves. Aunt Petunia would have loved the Manor, Harry thought, with a bitter twist of his mouth, which didn’t make him feel any better towards the place.

“Don’t touch anything,” Pansy sang, and Harry watched Ron’s hand recoil back from a statue he was admiring. “You never know what might bite.” Harry wasn’t sure if she were joking or not. Could cursed objects still work in a magicless hole? Had the Malfoys not had the sense to hide anything dark whilst under such scrutiny? He stared at Pansy’s face, but she gave nothing away.

After what felt like a year, Pansy threw open a door, smashing it against the wall and prancing inside. Harry shot a glance at Ron, who pulled a face; they had fought Death Eaters and here they were blanching at the thought of Malfoy sat on the other side of the door. Summoning every ounce of Gryffindor bravery that dwelled within him, Harry stepped inside.

It was a beautiful room with large glass windows that let the light filter in and cast aside any shadows. In the corner was a games table.  There were cool blue sofas and armchairs with a wooden coffee table in the middle. The heavy extravagance of the Slytherin common room was nowhere to be seen, and that shocked Harry. What shocked him more was the sight of Draco Malfoy lounging in a corner, on one of the chairs with his legs thrown over the arm of the chair. He was wearing mismatched socks and his hair fell loose about his face. Harry could not get over was the easy grin on Malfoy’s face as he watched Zabini deliberate his next chess move. Though still pointy, the grin softened Malfoy’s face, and Harry realised that he had never seen Malfoy just smile, not smirk or laugh at someone else’s misfortune, just smile.

Harry was jolted from his thoughts by Hermione’s elbow to his ribs, and he realised that he had been staring like an idiot at Malfoy’s smile. Maybe that ritual had fucked with his head.

“Darlings, I brought guests.” Malfoy turned at the sound of Pansy’s voice, still grinning, until he met Harry’s eyes. The grin toppled from Malfoy’s face and was replaced by a sneer, which made Harry much more comfortable. He wouldn’t like to admit it, but Malfoy’s smile had unnerved him. Harry sharply reminded himself that this was Malfoy, the school bully and his rival.

Malfoy’s voice was low, and his grey eyes narrowed as he spoke, “What the fuck is Potter doing in my house?” His tone matched the sneer on his face. “Come to gloat, Potter? Do you expect me to grovel to the Saviour, the Chosen One?”

“Shut up Malfoy,” Harry growled, his hackles up as the scowled at the other boy. Why the fuck had he agreed to this? He could feel Zabini’s eyes on him, cool and calculating.

Pansy rolled her eyes, “Stop overreacting, Draco. Potter’s here to help.”

“I don’t need his help!”

“Doesn’t bloody seem that way,” Harry replied. Malfoy’s eyes flicked back to him, and he climbed out of the chair, taking a step closer to Harry.

“Fine, let me rephrase, I don’t _want_ your help.” Malfoy’s scowl had deepened, and as he stepped closer, Harry could see dark circles under Malfoy’s eyes and a grey tinge to his skin. He looked like he had in sixth year; he looked like shit. “How dare you bring him here!” Malfoy snarled, rounding on Pansy, who didn’t flinch at his anger.

“Calm down, Draco,” Pansy huffed.

This statement only increased Malfoy’s rage. “I will not!” Pansy met his gaze, and the two glowered at each other.

“Should we go?” Ron hissed, and Harry shrugged, shooting a desperate look at Hermione who for once did not seem to have an answer.

Pansy said, “No,” at the same time Malfoy snarled, “Yes.”

Zabini stood up and crossed his arms over his chest. “Look mate, I don’t like them either, but you’re not going to get off your charges without them.”

Malfoy stopped glowering at Pansy and turned his gaze on Zabini. Harry decided that if looks could kill, Zabini would be a smoking pile on the floor.

“Mother said she was working on something,” Malfoy huffed, crossing his own arms. Hermione let out a small gasp, and it took Harry only a second to realise why. There on Malfoy’s arm was the ugly black stain of the Mark. It stood out, marring Malfoy’s too-pale skin. Harry had been adamant since the beginning of sixth year that Malfoy had gotten one, but he’d never seen it before. “What?” Malfoy demanded as he glowered at Hermione.  Then he appeared to catch on to what they were all staring at. “Something you dislike, Granger?” His cheeks had turned splotchy and red, and Harry felt Ron tense behind him as they waited to see what Malfoy did next.

“Yes, yes, there is,” Hermione said.

Malfoy’s jaw clenched, and he bit his lip before turning back to Pansy, “I want them gone.” Harry’s brow furrowed. Where was the slur? He’d expected Malfoy to call Hermione a Mudblood and laugh, tell her how he was sad to see she’d survived the war. But there was nothing. Maybe Malfoy wasn’t the boy from school anymore, just like Harry wasn’t. The war had changed everyone.

“Potter’s what your mother was working on,” Pansy said, stepping closer to Malfoy, her arms stretched out as if approaching a cornered animal.

“She wouldn’t go behind my back like that,” Malfoy said, but even Harry could tell Malfoy wasn’t convinced of that. It hadn’t even crossed his mind that Malfoy wasn’t in on Narcissa’s plan to have Harry save him. Judging by Malfoy’s reaction, Narcissa had made the right choice. Though the task of helping Malfoy had been difficult enough when Harry had assumed Malfoy was on board, now it seemed downright impossible.

“She isn’t willing to lose you,” Zabini said, his voice taking on a softness Harry would never have imagined. In the couple of minutes he had spent in the Slytherins’ presence, he was becoming more increasingly aware that he hadn’t ever really known them at all. “Neither are we.”

Pansy’s jaw was tense as she took Malfoy’s hand and squeezed it. “Please Draco, just hear us out.” She leaned forward, resting their heads together. Harry could tell the moment the fight went out of Malfoy, and he gave in to Pansy’s pleas.

Ron cleared his throat, earning glares from all the Slytherins. “So, what now?”

Pansy led Malfoy over to the sofas and beckoned for Harry, Ron, and Hermione to follow. Harry could see the vulnerability in the slope of Malfoy’s shoulders and his fear in the curve of his mouth, despite his attempt at the indifferent mask that the Malfoys had perfected. He looked like a boy sentenced to die. However, what awaited Malfoy if Harry couldn’t save him was a fate worse than death.

“Granger,” Zabini lounged back on the sofa, one arm resting on Malfoy’s frail shoulders, “you’re the brains of the Gryffindors. Any strategies on how to get Draco off?”

Harry watched as Hermione’s face expressed a thousand emotions in that split second. It then teetered between shock at Zabini’s compliment, outrage at having to help Malfoy, and pride at being thought the brains. Once she had managed to master her facial expression, she pursed her lips and pulled a pad and quill out of her bag. Harry could almost see her mind working. It was a new puzzle, and Hermione couldn’t turn that down.

“The problem is that the Ministry wants to make an example of Malfoy,” Malfoy blanched at that statement, and Pansy wrinkled her nose, “to ensure that no other young wizards and witches who liked Voldemort’s ideals ever think they can act on them.” The accusation in Hermione’s voice was heavy, but the Slytherins held their tongues. “They’ve picked deterrence as a way to avoid future crimes, and to save Malfoy we need to show them that rehabilitation is the answer. Show them that even someone like Malfoy can change, and that writing people off too soon is reminiscent of what Voldemort’s government wanted.” The Slytherins all flinched at her use of Voldemort’s name.

“How do we rehabilitate him if he’s locked here?” Zabini asked.

“Malfoy has to unlearn everything his parents taught him and take full responsibility for his actions,” she said. Malfoy’s fingers were tracing his Dark Mark, and Harry wondered if Malfoy was aware of the action. “He also has to prove he can offer something to wizarding society.”

“I offer something to wizarding society!” Draco spluttered. Pansy leaned over and whispered in his ear until he calmed down.

Hermione continued, ignoring his interruption. “The public know of his upcoming trial and what the Ministry hopes to do to him and, well,” she winced, “they support it, seeing how Malfoy hurt a lot of people at Hogwarts and his father hurt a lot of people in the wider world.” Malfoy’s eyes dropped, and he stared at his hands. There was no defence of him or his father from the others. “So we need to change the public perception of him.”

“How?” Pansy questioned.

Hermione shot Malfoy a hard look. A sneer curled at his lips, but he said nothing. Harry had a feeling it was only due to the hard grip Pansy was keeping on his hand. Harry hadn’t ever imagined that one day Malfoy wouldn’t have something nasty to say. “It’s going to be difficult,” Hermione hummed - Harry had the feeling she was enjoying winding Malfoy up. God knows he deserved it after everything he’d done to her. “We have to paint him as the misunderstood bad boy.”

It was Harry who snorted at this comment. He couldn’t help it. “ _Misunderstood bad boy?_ ” He shot Ron a grin, and Ron snickered.

Pansy ran her eyes over Malfoy and pushed a stray strand of white-blond hair behind his ear. “I can see that working.” He seemed to preen under her touch. Harry wondered if there was still something between the two of them; he hadn’t ever been sure.

“How?” Ron demanded.

“Lavender and Parvati used to go on about it in the dorm,” Hermione shrugged. Malfoy smirked at Ron. “Never saw it myself,” her tone was cool, “but they found his arrogance attractive.”

“Arsehole with a heart of gold?” Zabini drawled, causing Malfoy to shove him. It was half-hearted at best.

“Exactly,” Hermione nodded, scribbling a few things onto the paper in front of her. “He needs to be relatable – slash - girls need to love him – slash - he needs a sob story or a tragic past, however you want to play it. A reason for everything he did besides the fact he’s just an arsehole.”

Malfoy’s mouth twitched, but he kept his cool gaze on the floor. Harry was both thankful and irritated by this. He didn’t like subdued Malfoy. Harry didn’t know how to handle him.

“I think that’s a good place to leave things,” Pansy nodded, jumping to her feet and sharing a glance with Zabini. They seemed to have an entire conversation in the moment of eye contact they shared. Harry recognised it, because Ron and Hermione often seemed to have entire conversations without him just by looking at each other. The silent conversations often seemed to be about him. “Thank you for coming,” Pansy said, shooting them a polite smile with a shimmer of warmth behind it. She glared at Malfoy, who just shrugged and wandered back over to the chessboard.

“Team ‘Saving Draco Malfoy,’” Zabini mused, as he followed Malfoy back to the chessboard.

“Well, I guess I’ll just show them out then.” Pansy’s voice was loud and pointed, but Zabini and Malfoy ignored her. “Boys,” she muttered. Hermione nodded in agreement before realising what she had done. Pansy and Hermione agreeing: maybe miracles could happen.

Ron and Hermione followed Pansy out the door, but before he left Harry shot Malfoy one last look. The boy was leaning over the chessboard, white hair falling over his face as he argued in a low voice with Zabini, whose own face was impassive. Harry sighed and let the door shut behind him. They had as much of a chance of not coming to blows over this _rehabilitation_ than Harry did of becoming a professional dancer.

* * *

Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood outside the Malfoy gates for a moment, gazing back at the Manor. They had had to wait a minute for their magic to fully return before they could apparate back to the Burrow. Pansy had instructed them that she’d owl with a time they could come by in the next couple of days once everyone had had a chance to think of a Malfoy sob story angle. She hadn’t seemed to care that they might have other plans. They didn’t, but that was beside the point.

“That wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be,” Hermione confessed.

“Well, no one hexed or punched anyone, so there’s that,” Ron laughed, his arm around Hermione’s waist.

“There’s that,” Hermione replied.

“Here’s to Team ‘Saving Draco Bloody Malfoy,’” Ron grinned ruefully. Harry caught his smile and stared at the Manor, the polished white stone not giving away any of its masters’ dirty secrets.

“To ‘Team Saving Draco Bloody Malfoy,’” Harry echoed, wondering once again what the hell he’d signed himself up for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Here's chapter 2 and I hope you enjoyed it. If you did please either comment or leave kudos cause it really does mean the world. Chapter 3 will be up shortly.


	3. Chapter Three

As Harry sat and stared at Malfoy’s irritating face, he decided it was beyond time to eat his words. What he really wanted to do was stick his words up Malfoy’s arse until the git choked on them, but that wasn’t an option.

Only last night had he defended Malfoy to Ginny. He had sat there and earnestly said that Malfoy seemed like he was going to be civil about the life debt bond. It was his _soul_ on the line after all, and self-preservation was what Slytherins did best, especially Malfoys. Harry had agreed that, yes, there were so many better things he could be doing with his time, but it was tolerable.

Today, Malfoy was not tolerable.

Malfoy had smirked, snorted, and sneered at every suggestion put forward on how to present himself as redeemed to the public. At one point, he had outright laughed in Hermione’s face, and Harry had thought Ron was going to punch him - it would have served Malfoy right.

“Merlin, fuck, Malfoy! We’re not here for our own enjoyment!” Ron shouted for the third time in the last hour, and Harry groaned, burying his head in his hands.

It was harder to separate Malfoy the bully from Malfoy who needed saving today. This time he had known they were coming, and so his hair was slicked back and his clothes were smart. There were no longer any mismatched socks. Harry missed the socks: they had made Malfoy seem human.

“Perhaps if you tried being more contrite, we would get somewhere, Draco,” Zabini suggested. His face was blank, but the tone of his voice said that he too was contemplating hitting the other boy around the head.

Malfoy shrugged. “Perhaps if someone actually made a useful suggestion--”

“--Perhaps if you actually made a suggestion!” Harry said, leaning closer to the grey-eyed boy.

“Perhaps you should mind your own business!”

“Perhaps your mother shouldn’t have made it my business!”

“Leave my mother out of this!”

“I wasn’t insulting your bloody mother, you fucking idiot!”

“I’m a fucking idiot! Have you-”

“Shut up!” Pansy shrieked, jumping to her feet and causing them all to start. It was only now that Harry became aware that at some point he and Malfoy had stood up and were now standing nose to nose. Or, well, nose to chin, Harry corrected, as he was forced to acknowledge that Malfoy had a couple of inches on him. “You are both fucking idiots.”

“Hey!” they both shouted, rounding on her, eyes flashing.

“Point and case,” she sighed. Harry turned to Ron and Hermione, who were watching him with exhausted expressions on their faces. He was not going to be getting any help from them. “I think we should have some lunch. Granger, want to help me grab the sandwiches Narcissa prepared?”

Hermione shot Ron a nervous look before getting to her feet; he followed suit.

“She doesn’t need a bodyguard, Weasley,” Pansy said, eyebrow arched.

“Not that Weasley would make a very good one,” Malfoy muttered, smirking to himself. Harry glowered at him, which only made him smile wider.

“Shut your mouth, Draco. You’re a lot prettier when you don’t speak,” Pansy said, a smile on her face as Malfoy flipped her off. “Come on, Granger, let’s leave the boys to their testosterone battles.” Hermione gave them a tentative smile, and she followed the former school bully out of the room. Harry wondered if they too would come to blows in the kitchen, though Pansy seemed a lot more mature than Malfoy.

Only when they left did it become apparent that the two girls had been dominating the conversation. As the minutes ticked by, Harry felt his throat starting to close and his heart banging against his chest. He couldn’t have a panic attack here, not with Malfoy to witness. Harry drummed his fingers against the arm of the sofa, trying to think of something to say, something to break the tension. As the silence closed in on him, he drew a ragged breath, and three heads turned towards him.

“What’s wrong, Potter?” Zabini asked. He sounded as though he were talking to a rabid dog. _Be slow and careful and it won’t bite_. “Is he-”

“So, I see you play chess!” Ron declared. Zabini and Malfoy looked startled by this sudden proclamation when it was apparent that Harry was seconds away from a panic attack. Malfoy was now looking at Ron as if he were even more stupid than he had initially thought, but Harry didn’t care. At least their eyes weren’t burning into him.

“Yes, Weasley, there is indeed a chessboard there,” Zabini answered.

“Want a game?”

“A game?”

“Yes, do you want to play a game of chess?”

“With you?”

“Yes, with me.” Ron’s tone was overly light and breezy, but again Harry didn’t care, the silence was broken. His heart was still pounding, but his breathing eased. He stopped feeling the forest beneath him.

Zabini shot Malfoy a look and then shrugged, “Sure.” Ron jumped up and started babbling about the first game of chess he had ever played, and Harry watched as Zabini’s face contemplated whether or not he was dealing with a madman.

“Harry’s the only one who ever plays with me, and he’s awful, so I’m looking forward to some good competition. You are good right, Zabini?”

“I’m not awful, but Draco’s better. Play him if you want a good game.”

There was a pause in the conversation, and Harry glanced over at Malfoy, who was still staring at him like he was a bug under a microscope.

“Malfoy?” Zabini prompted.

Malfoy finally dragged his gaze from Harry, and that last bit of tightness in his chest evaporated. “You can play first. I’ll only play Weasley if he’s worth my time.” He waved his hand, gesturing them over to the chessboard. Ron rolled his eyes but headed to the board.

Harry, who only played because Ron enjoyed it and everyone else refused to play with Ron, didn’t bother going to watch. He curled up his legs and rested his chin on his knees. Seamus always argued that there was no fun in a game you couldn’t win, but Harry didn’t see that. Half the fun of some Quidditch matches had been fighting with everything you had to defy those odds. The war had been a battle many thought he couldn’t win, and yet he had fought anyway. He let his eyes fall on Malfoy. who was lounging like a king in his castle. Harry would fight until Malfoy was a decent human being as well.

“Why don’t you care about what we’re doing?” Harry asked, picking at a loose thread on his jeans so he didn’t have to look at Malfoy. It was easier without having to see the pointed face that had tormented him through school, that had tormented his friends through school. The ‘Potter Stinks’ badges, the ‘Weasley is our King’ song —  they were all Malfoy.

He could feel Malfoy’s eyes on him, but Harry didn’t meet Malfoy’s gaze. “Why do you care?”

“Life debt.”

“Yes, Mother told me.” Malfoy’s tone suggested that he was still about as impressed with his mother’s idea as he had been with Hagrid’s flobberworms.

Harry shrugged, “That’s it really.”

“So, you don’t care?”

Sighing, Harry looked up to meet Malfoy’s eyes. He wasn’t in the mood for another argument. The near panic attack had left him exhausted. He wanted a nap. “I care, Malfoy, in the sense that I don’t think even you deserve the Kiss or Azkaban, but I don’t care about _you_ , not really.”

Malfoy’s mouth twitched, and he laughed. It was a joyless and bitter sound. “Merlin, you know your life is sad when Saint Potter doesn’t care about you.” He smoothed his hair back off his face, and the broken boy who Harry had spotted yesterday shone through. Even the epithet lacked the usual bite behind it.

“I’ve never cared about you, Malfoy,” Harry said, raising an eyebrow. Zabini and Ron were bickering in the corner over the chess, but Harry didn’t have it in him to care. He was too wrapped up in this conversation.

Malfoy began to count on his fingers. “One, you wound me Potter, and two, that’s a lie: you following me during our sixth year proved that.”

“I didn’t follow you because I was interested in you, I followed you because I cared about the people you might hurt.” Harry knew he was lying, and in fact he had spent most of his time at Hogwarts caring about Malfoy. Harry had cared what Malfoy said and what he did; it was how they always got under each other’s skin so desperately.

“Perhaps.” Malfoy shrugged, and something flickered over his face. Harry wanted to believe it was regret, but he didn’t know if that was just him being overly hopeful. Him hoping to see that there was something they could genuinely work with to turn Malfoy into someone who could be accepting and kind. Malfoy opened his mouth to say more, but before he could, Pansy burst in holding a large platter of sandwiches and cakes, while Hermione carried a jug of pumpkin juice and glasses.

“Oh, thank Merlin, no one’s dead!” Pansy exclaimed, and Hermione laughed.

“We’re not animals, Pans,” Blaise replied from where the chess game appeared to be heating up further. Pansy ignored him and set out the food. Harry tried to catch Malfoy’s eye, but he was pretty sure Malfoy was ignoring him deliberately. He wanted to know what else Malfoy would have said. Surely, he knew that Harry didn’t genuinely care about him. He didn’t even hate Malfoy anymore. The war had put it all in perspective; they were just kids who had their choices taken away from them.

“I’ve got it!” he exclaimed, causing Pansy to spill her juice down her front as she jumped.

“This better be fucking worth it,” she muttered as she dabbed at her blouse. Harry sent her an apologetic look.

“We’ll call him ‘The Boy Who Had No Choice’!” He grinned. It was perfect.

Hermione nodded, grabbing her notepad. “Present him as someone who was groomed from childhood for this one purpose! Talk about how he’d been indoctrinated with pure-blood ideals!”

“And about how, if he didn’t do as he was told, the Dark Lord had threatened him and his family.” Pansy nodded, her stained top now forgotten as she leaned forward pointing at Hermione’s paper. “This is amazing, Potter.”

He had to admit he was pretty proud of himself, even though he felt it was a half-truth. Malfoy had had choices, he just made all the wrong ones. A bitter twist snaked through him at the thought of Sirius, who had had all the same choices as Malfoy, yet had chosen differently. Harry glanced up at Malfoy, wondering if he would see that genuine smile again. Instead, Malfoy had sunk back onto the sofa further, his face withdrawn and blank.

“Also, it links him to Potter, which can only be good publicity,” Zabini added.

The group spent another hour after lunch trying to come up with a plan for an article, and while Malfoy still offered nothing useful, he wasn’t rude either. Harry supposed it was a start.

* * *

 

The Burrow was alive again. Neville had returned with Dean and Seamus, along with Hannah Abbot and another couple of Hufflepuffs. It was nice to have so many of Dumbledore’s Army together again, and Harry could tell Molly thrived when the Burrow was overflowing with life.

Harry, however, was not able to enjoy fully the day, as he was stuck playing chess with Ron, who by the skin on his neck had managed to beat Zabini and swore that there was absolutely no fucking way he was losing to Malfoy.

While Ron was deliberating a ‘sneaky Slytherin move’ Zabini had made, Harry let his mind wander as he watched Ginny, who was trying to get Luna to play a Seekers game with her. Ginny had earlier tried to get Harry to play, but Ron had just glared at her until she walked away, throwing her hands up in the air. He knew Ron was happy for him and Gin, but he still needed assurance that Harry would always have time for him.  With all Ron had done for Harry and was doing still with this Malfoy thing, Harry was happy to prove it to him.

Harry wasn’t able to spend much time with Ginny anymore as he was currently spending half of every other day at the Manor - much to Ron’s horror. Ron had vowed that if he ever saw Malfoy again when the trial was over, he was going to move to a new country. Harry didn’t quite share Ron’s dislike of the time they spent there. He found it interesting watching the Slytherins interact. They had quick tongues, sharp eyes, and hard mouths, but they seemed to care for each other. It was painted into Pansy’s face every time Malfoy just shrugged at the plans they came up with or pointed out the ways in which they would fail. It was in the set of Zabini’s mouth if they dared insult Malfoy. Harry wondered what had happened to Nott, who had vanished after the initial Burrow visit.

The only time Malfoy had showed a hint of emotion in the last week was when Hermione brought up the idea of a sob story to really hammer home that his parents had forced him into the Death Eater life. He had shut it down instantly, sneering that just because all of _their_ childhoods were shit didn’t mean _his_ was. Ron had, of course, jumped to his feet and started yelling that he had had a happy childhood, while Malfoy sneered that it wasn’t possible given how poor the Weasleys are. Harry hadn’t even tried to stop Ron as he launched himself at Malfoy, ignoring Pansy’s shouting. Harry and Ron had been escorted out with firm words that Pansy would owl them, and she did a couple of days later. Harry had told Ron he didn’t have to go, but Ron had insisted that he wasn’t leaving Harry and Hermione alone with those psychos.

Malfoy was curled up on the sofa when they had next arrived, and while he hadn’t apologised for his comment, he had asked Ron how the Cannons were doing in the Quidditch leagues and refrained from any scornful comments. Harry hadn’t known how Malfoy had figured how to placate Ron’s anger, but Harry had caught the knowing look Hermione shot Pansy, so he could hazard a guess. The thought of those two being friends was as disconcerting as the two of them being enemies.

Harry picked up one of his knights, and then put it down again. He had spent a minute or so deliberating the move and had decided it was the best one. Normally, he would just move them wherever seemed best, without thinking too much about it, but Ron had begged him to try to play tactically.

“You’re not even trying!” Ron groaned as his queen took Harry’s knight.

“I am!” Harry protested, laughing at the disappointment on Ron’s face. “It’s not my fault I suck.”

“You do suck,” Ron nodded mournfully.

“What’s Harry sucking?” Seamus asked as he and Dean appeared.

“I suck at chess,” Harry corrected.

Seamus sighed, “What a dull answer, I was hoping it was going to be Malfoy.”

Harry let out an indignant squawk as he chucked his king at Seamus. Ron gave a bark of laughter before glowering at Harry for ruining the game.

“Why’s Harry sucking Malfoy?” Ginny said, dumping herself on Harry’s lap and shooting him a grin. He pinched her thigh. “Like, don’t get me wrong! If you concentrate on looks alone, that’d be hot, but then you remember Malfoy’s personality.” She sighed as if Malfoy had personally offended her by ruining whatever weird fantasy she was imagining. Harry scowled and poked her with his wand, grinning as she squealed at his Stinging Hex.

At this point Ron’s face was contorted as he tried to make up his mind whether he should laugh or feel ill at Ginny’s image. He apparently settled on a third option of outrage and glowered at his sister, “You think Malfoy’s hot?”

Dropping his head onto Ginny’s shoulder, Harry groaned. “Why is that the bit you fixed on, mate?”

“Because my sister should not think Malfoy’s hot! No one should think Malfoy’s hot!”

Harry personally thought this statement was a bit unfair since in the last week he had come to realise Malfoy wasn’t awful looking. Sure, he was pointy and pale, but there was the same haughty elegance to his features that made his mother so beautiful. Sirius had had it as well.

“I think Draco’s good-looking,” Luna mused. She sat down and rested her head on Ginny’s knee. Ron shot Luna the same look he gave her when she started discussing one of her made-up creatures. A smile quirked at Harry’s lips. Ginny hummed in agreement as she began carding her fingers through Luna’s hair.

“I think we spend far too much time discussing Draco sodding Malfoy,” Neville muttered from where he was sunbathing beside Hannah Abbot. A chorus of agreement went up.

“You think this is bad, you should have heard Harry in sixth year,” Ron smirked as he rolled out of the way of Harry’s Stinging Hex.

“Please don’t remind me,” Hermione groaned.

Harry flushed under his friends’ taunts and buried his head in Ginny’s hair, only coming out when the conversation had truly turned and she had kissed the pout off of his lips.

As one of the few raised by Muggles, Harry was then enlisted by Dean to teach the rest of the pure-bloods and Hermione, who lacked all co-ordination skills, how to play football. It resulted in just as many cries of outrage and blatant fouls as their Quidditch matches, as well as confused cries and awful attempts.

“Why is there only one ball?” Ginny demanded before kicking Ron in the shin. The smirk on her face suggested it wasn’t as accidental as she pretended.

“Why run when you can fly?” Luna cried as she ran around the pitch, arms in the air and no interest in the game whatsoever.

Harry thought it was a shame wizards didn’t watch TV, as introducing pure-bloods to basic Muggle things would be hilarious. He thought of Malfoy confronted with something as basic as a microwave and was so amused by the thought that Harry tripped over his own feet and landed in a heap, much to everyone’s amusement. He played it off as clumsiness.

When Mrs Weasley called them all in for dinner, their spirits were high again, and even Neville was chatting away like nothing was wrong. Harry wished it could stay like this forever. Let the wizarding world fix its bloody self, he thought, his mouth set in a bitter twist before Ginny kissed it away. They had all done enough for a lifetime.

* * *

 

“Hello, Mr Potter, Miss Granger, and Mr Weasley.”

Harry froze as he always did at the formidable sight of Narcissa Malfoy. In the last couple of weeks that they had been coming to the Manor, Harry had happily avoided her since that first day. She didn’t bother them in Malfoy’s wing of the Manor, and Pansy always greeted them at the door. He had asked if Pansy hadn’t a home anymore, and she had asked if he did; it was fair enough, and he had let the point go. He had just been curious, but the dangerous curve of her mouth warned him not to push the issue.

“Hello, Mrs Malfoy,” Ron nodded. He was the only one who had the self-control to speak. Hermione was paralyzed like Harry. He understood; the sight of Narcissa alone sent flashbacks through his mind. He wished they could leave the bloody Manor to deal with this life debt business, to find more neutral ground. But if Malfoy tried to leave, he could take about two steps before collapsing to the ground vomiting uncontrollably. There was no escaping Malfoy Manor for the Malfoys. He knew what it was like to have a place that should have been a home become a prison, like the Dursleys’ house had always been for him. He hadn’t had the bittersweet memories of sanctuary mocking him.

“I wasn’t aware you were coming today?”

“Pansy told us to. We have to run over the last details before Mal- Draco’s interview with Skeeter. She’s coming here in a day or so,” Hermione said, having found her voice. Ron had taken her hand, and Harry imagined that grounded her in reality. A bolt of jealously went up his spine.

The Ministry weren’t impressed about having to let Rita Skeeter, another person, through the wards, but Harry had pushed for it, and they had relented pretty quickly. They didn’t care too much about who got into Malfoy Manor as long as it wasn’t registered Death Eaters - even then he wasn’t sure whether the Ministry would care. Murdered Malfoys would require a lot less paperwork than the Kiss and would be less expensive than Azkaban.

Narcissa smiled. It was neither warm nor kind. “I’m glad you’ve all managed to work everything out,” she stepped back and beckoned them inside. “I presume you know where you’re going?”

They nodded, eager to get away from Narcissa.

“Wonder where Pansy is,” Ron mused after they had scurried away, not daring to talk until they were into Malfoy’s wing of the manor. It was no wonder Malfoy had grown up to be such a tosser if he had had a bloody wing to himself, the rich prick, Harry thought.

“She probably assumed we know where we’re going by now,” Hermione said, but when they reached the room they normally met in, it was empty.

Harry glanced around the room as if he had somehow missed the Slytherins when he first looked. It was still empty. That was incorrect: it was empty in the sense that it was Slytherin-less. What it did not lack was bottles of wine, whiskey, and vodka. The entire room reeked of stale booze and cigarettes. He wrinkled his nose.

“Did we get the wrong day?” asked Ron.

Hermione pulled the letter out of her bag and pointed at it. “No, Pansy said to meet them again today.”

“But they’re not here,” Harry stated, regretting it when Hermione threw him a pointed look.

“I am aware of that, Harry.”

He grinned sheepishly and dragged his hand through his hair. “Suppose we could try find them. Maybe they’re in Malfoy’s room?” His friends looked about as keen as he was to start romping about the Manor in search of Malfoy’s room, but they had little other choice.

Harry summoned up Gryffindor bravery and walked down the hall, out of the only room he felt comfortable in. Hermione and Ron fell into step behind him. They didn’t speak as they passed through the dusty corridors, searching for any sign of life.

It was clear that without the house elves the Malfoys had no idea what they were doing. Harry doubted any of them had ever cleaned anything in their lives. _He_ had spent his childhood cleaning up after the Dursleys, earning his stay in their house. He wondered what the Malfoys were eating. All Pansy and Hermione ever fetched from the kitchen were sandwiches. Did any of the Malfoys know how to cook? He presumed Pansy or Blaise were doing the grocery shopping.

Harry froze at the sound of a low groan echoing through a large wooden door. It was the biggest door they had seen yet, and it was at the end of the corridor. This had to be Malfoy’s room.

“Gun not,” Ron hissed.

“Gun not,” Hermione whispered a split second after.

Harry glowered at his traitorous friends before turning back to the door. It was just Malfoy’s door. There was nothing scary about it. It wasn’t going to bite him, he hoped. He wouldn’t put it past Malfoy to have a door that bit people.

“Go on then,” Ron grinned, stepping as far back from the door as he could. It seemed Harry wasn’t the only one who had considered the possibility that Malfoy’s door could literally bite.

Harry raised his hand and knocked twice on the door. He made sure the knocks were firm and loud so that Ron couldn’t laugh at him again. A loud groan sounded, and Harry heard the stomping of feet before the door was flung open to reveal a seething Malfoy.

“Pansy I swear to-” Malfoy trailed off and stared at the three of them, his face scrunching up as he chewed on his lip. “You’re not Pansy.”

“We’re aware,” Harry answered. He was trying his best not to stare at Malfoy, but he couldn’t help it. He had never seen Malfoy look so dishevelled: his white hair fell scruffily around his face and flopped over his eyes.

Malfoy rubbed his eyes. “What are you doing here?” His voice was croaky, and to Harry’s absolute glee, he realised Malfoy was hung over.

“Pansy told us to come by,” Hermione said.

“Why the fuck would she have done that?” Malfoy scowled, crossing his arms. The Dark Mark caught Harry’s eyes, and he deliberately kept his eyes on Malfoy’s face. It looked a lot younger in comparison to his usually slicked back style. He almost looked sweet, if a bit too skinny.

“She’s your friend,” Harry shrugged.

“Not for much longer,” Malfoy muttered, causing Harry to grin. Malfoy raised an eyebrow at his smile, but couldn’t seem to help his own mouth curling up anyway. “Look, I’m really sorry that you-”

“Hermione!”

The smile fell off Malfoy’s face as he spun in the direction of the shriek. The movement seemed to have been too fast for his hungover body to handle, and he stumbled forward. Harry threw his hands out to catch him without thinking, only realising what he had done when Malfoy stared up at him.

“Thanks, Potter,” Malfoy muttered as he turned and glowered at Pansy, who was hurrying down the corridor in what looked like last night’s clothes and makeup. Harry let go of Malfoy as if he had been burnt.

“I’m so sorry,” Pansy sighed as she faced them all, “I thought you were all coming tomorrow. I’m an idiot.”

“It’s fine, we’ll just go and come back,” Ron shrugged. Harry had a feeling that not spending a day with the Slytherins was not necessarily a shame in Ron’s book.

Pansy shook her head firmly and then clasped it, wincing slightly. “No, it’s fine. It’s silly for you to go now, and we need to sort everything for Draco’s interview.” Harry wasn’t sure who looked unhappier about that, Ron or Malfoy.

“What’s going on?”

Everyone turned at the sound of the plummy voice as a head of dark hair appeared over Malfoy’s shoulder.

“Time to leave Theo, urgent business,” Pansy sighed.

Harry had never spoken to Theodore Nott, but he forced himself to shoot the other boy a weak smile. Like Malfoy, he looked worse for wear, but unlike Malfoy, Nott was shirtless and had a line of dark hickeys down his neck. Harry ducked his head at the sight. He didn’t want to know what the Slytherin girl had done with Nott.

Harry was glad that Nott seemed to have been vetoed from their meetings for whatever reason because if he were being honest, Nott gave him the creeps.

Nott crossed his arms and stepped closer to Malfoy, narrowing his eyes at Harry. Harry pursed his lips and tried not to sigh. He personally thought three Slytherins was enough. “I don’t see why I should leave.”

Malfoy turned and glanced over at Nott. “It’s just some dumb thing I’ve got to do, you can come back later.”

“Some dumb thing?” Harry scoffed. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but from the Slytherin’s glare he clearly had. “Sorry, it’s just we’re trying to save your life, Malfoy.”

“Fuck off, Potter,” Malfoy scowled.

“Yeah, Potter, fuck off,” Nott laughed, a nasty smile on his mouth. Harry wanted to punch him in his stupid face. He was sick of having this fight with Malfoy, and he didn’t need Nott joining in.

“Boys, shut it,” Pansy snapped, still rubbing her temples, “If you all would wait in the game room, we’ll meet you there in ten minutes.” Malfoy stormed back into his room with Nott on his tail, and Pansy rolled her eyes. “He doesn’t do well with hangovers.”

Ron snickered, “Pretty sure he doesn’t do well with life.” Harry was certainly not going to disagree.

Hermione stayed uncharacteristically quiet while they waited for the Slytherins in the game room and all during the morning’s discussion. However, she shrugged it off when Harry hung back and questioned her on their way down to the garden. Pansy had lasted an hour and a half of discussion before she had started sighing loudly and staring out of the window. After a ten-minute squabble about whether or not to go outside between her and Malfoy, they were heading out. It had been a stalemate until Zabini agreed with Pansy that it would be nice to get some sun.

Nott had been shooed away by Pansy with the promise he could return later. Harry was glad to see him go.

“Can I ask about the peacocks?” Harry asked, remembering how one had strutted across the path in front of them on their way down to the lake. It reminded Harry in a way of Malfoy at school, and he did his best not to laugh at the thought. Malfoy blew between hot and cold quicker than anything Harry knew, and he was currently being tolerable.

Malfoy, who now looked slightly less dishevelled and was fully dressed, shot Harry a look. “What’s there to ask?”

Harry returned Malfoy’s look and grinned. “Well most people don’t have peacocks on their lawns.” He had not heard of anyone that did, not even the Queen.

“Malfoys aren’t most people,” Malfoy shrugged, but there was that slight smile on his lips as they walked along.

“No, they certainly aren’t,” Harry mused. He had never met anyone like Malfoy’s family. Narcissa was a force to be reckoned with but had passed on the responsibility of saving Malfoy to Harry and not looked back. Lucius was up there on Harry’s list of the world’s biggest twats and yet hadn’t even emerged once from his office in the last two weeks. Not that Harry was complaining: avoiding Lucius made everything easier. Then there was Malfoy himself: schoolyard bully turned Death Eater. Harry couldn’t pin him down. He dragged his hand through his hair as he caught Malfoy’s eyes flashing at him.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Malfoy’s eyes had hardened, and his back was even more rigid than usual - a true feat due to the stick that seemed to be constantly up his arse.

“Jesus, not everything is an insult,” Harry groaned, though he hadn’t meant it as a compliment.

He was tired of this back and forth between them, tired of having to watch everything he said in case Malfoy bit his head off. Harry had known that being forced to walk around the grounds with only Malfoy would end badly, but Ron had coerced Zabini into another game of chess as soon as he spotted the outside board, and Pansy had linked arms with Hermione and wandered off, leaving Harry and Malfoy alone again. Harry had been thankful for Malfoy’s offer to see the lake, but now he was regretting not just watching the chess match.

The lake was beautiful though, like most things associated with the Manor. The sunlight glittered on its surface, and colourful fish of all different species darted about. Harry leaned over to admire them and to avoid looking at Malfoy.

“Apologies for presuming you of all people would not be rude about my family,” Malfoy sniffed.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Only because my mother made you.”

Harry groaned. He was sure they had been over this, a thousand times already. “Yes, but I am still here and I am trying, which is more than I can say for you. You’ve been fuck all useful! Do you even want to be saved?” It was so easy to let the anger get under his skin, to let all his pent-up rage come flying out.

“Shut up, Potter!” Malfoy’s grey eyes flashed with warning, but Harry wasn’t going to let him off. There was no one for Malfoy to hide behind now.

“No, tell me why you aren’t doing anything to save yourself.”

“I’m doing everything you ask of me!”

“You’re not trying! Why am I trying if you’re not?”

“Because I don’t deserve it!” The words flew out of Malfoy’s mouth, and from the way his lip trembled, they had been meant to be kept inside. Harry’s anger deflated as he watched remorse warp Malfoy’s features; they were no longer haughty and elegant but broken and tired.

He stepped closer to Malfoy, “What do you mean?”

Wrapping his arms around himself, Malfoy stared at his feet. “I did everything they say I did: I was a Death Eater. I did try kill Dumbledore. I did nearly kill two others while trying to do it. I did use Unforgivable curses, and I did have a choice.” His voice shook, “I had a fucking choice, and I chose the wrong side. I don’t deserve your help.”

“Don’t play the pity card with me.” Those weren’t the words Harry meant to say, but he didn’t regret them - not even when Malfoy stared at him and clenched his jaw. “I don’t just want to save your life, Malfoy, I want you to deserve to be saved.” He wanted Malfoy to change for the better; he wanted him to own his mistakes and to learn from them.

“I am not playing the pity card.” Malfoy’s voice was low and dangerous.

“Good,” Harry nodded, turning back to the lake, “but you still need to work on becoming a halfway decent person.”

“Then tell me how, oh Saviour,” Malfoy sneered.

If asked later, it was that sneer that did it. Malfoy’s complete and utter tosserness was a close second. “Figure it out, _your fucking self,_ ” Harry snarled. He wasn’t thinking properly as he reached out and shoved Malfoy with all his might. Realisation flashed across Malfoy’s face as he stumbled back, and with Seeker reflexes and a Slytherin’s spite, he grabbed Harry’s arm, and the two of them toppled into the lake together.

The lake was freezing cold despite the fact it was the beginning of July. Harry kicked and spluttered as he spat out the mouthful of water he had inhaled.

“What the fuck, Potter?” Malfoy spluttered as he emerged. His white hair was plastered to his face, and his clothes clung to him as they stood at waist height in the water. “I cannot believe you just pushed me into my lake. What the fuck is your problem?”

The ridiculousness of the situation hit Harry all at once, and coupled with Malfoy’s outraged expression, he couldn’t control himself. A bark of laughter burst out of him, and soon he was doubled over in hysterics, his body shaking with the force of his laughter.

“What is so funny?” Malfoy demanded.

“This, us,” Harry managed to get out before he started laughing again. He glanced up at Malfoy, green eyes bright, and grinned. It cracked that mask Malfoy was wearing and the other boy started laughing as well. Malfoy had a nice laugh. It softened his face and caused his grey eyes to brighten to liquid silver.

“Fucking hell, Potter,” Malfoy sighed, wiping his eyes, a grin still splitting his face in two.

“Harry,” Harry corrected as he gazed at Malfoy and held out his hand, “I think it’s time you called me Harry.”

Malfoy swallowed and eyed the hand Harry was holding out to him. He knew what it was, what it symbolised. Seven years of fights and taunts, of scowls and sneers, that all came back to one rejected handshake on the Hogwarts Express.

“Okay, _Harry_ ,” Malfoy said, voice barely above a whisper, “you’ll have to call me Draco then.” His hand was freezing against Harry’s, his skin soft apart from the familiar callouses that came from riding a broom.

“Okay, _Draco_.” The name tasted weird and foreign in Harry’s mouth without being followed by ‘sodding Malfoy,’ but he thought he could get used to it.

By the time they had re-joined the others outside the Manor, Blaise and Ron had gathered food. Harry and Draco were mocked for being stupid enough to land themselves in the lake. However, Harry and Draco got to laugh when Draco asked Harry - not Potter - to pass him a sandwich, and Harry told Draco - not Malfoy - “sure thing.” The rest of the interview planning went off without a hitch, and even though Draco hadn’t asked him to keep quiet that he didn’t think he deserved to be saved, Harry kept it to himself anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wahooo next update!! Let me know if you liked it and pleasee leave Kudos <3 xoxo


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's late and I'm really sorry!! I wanted to get it up by this weekend for you all but I've had a bit of a beta nightmare, which is all sorted now!!  
> Also, I can proudly say I have finished writing the fic itself meaning updates will be becoming a lot more regular as I'll update as my betas finish with them!!  
> It's about 16 chapters and an epilogue in total I want to say so I hope you all look forward to it  
> Writing this fic has been the most amazing thing I've done in a long time and well I'm so excited to see what you guys think!!  
> As always leave comments and kudos please to let me know what you thought <3

The Department of Magical Law Enforcement echoed, Harry noticed, as he trailed behind Robards through the Auror Headquarters. He could feel people’s eyes following him, but they knew better than to harass him for an autograph —  not when their boss was storming through the corridors. His eyes caught on one of the cubicles: it was littered with maps and pictures tracking the Death Eaters who had disappeared after the Battle. In the first month after the Battle, Harry had welcomed the work the Ministry provided, the way they treated him as an adult and respected his opinion. But lately it was becoming tiring. He’d found the Burrow suffocating with Mrs Weasley still treating them like children. After being on the run, he’d learnt to be too independent for that.

Harry chewed on his lip and reached for Ginny’s hand. She turned from where she was chatting to Luna and tossed him a smile before turning back to Luna. He and Luna often got called in to give evidence, as Luna had seen a lot during her time in the Malfoy dungeons, and Harry was Harry; Gin was here for moral support.

Luna would be expected to testify against the Malfoys. He knew this, but she didn’t seem to have anything negative to say about Malfoy- _Draco_ , Harry corrected himself, smiling as he walked down the halls. He still wasn’t used to it.

Robards led them into one of the viewing rooms and closed the door firmly behind them, but Harry had already spotted the prying eyes. He hoped that one day his fame would all blow over. He couldn’t stand seeing articles about himself in the paper. The worst ones criticised Ginny for being his girlfriend, or tried to speculate on the complexities of his relationships with Ron and Hermione. They all tried to keep their chins up, but it could be hard. Seamus and Ginny had made a collage of the most ridiculous articles about them, and the pride of place was the shot of Harry and Ron frowning over a packet of condoms. Ron hadn’t known what they were, and Harry had been trying his best to explain it.

Mrs Weasley had nearly passed out and had forbidden boys and girls from sharing rooms for a couple of days before realising that they didn’t do it for sex. Harry had woken up both nights he’d slept on Ron’s floor, once to his own screams and shouts as he stood helpless, watching Voldemort kill his friends and family one by one. The next night he’d sprung out of bed covered in a cold sweat after hearing Ron’s whimpers and cries. Hermione’s screams had woken the whole house that night. It had been too soon after the war to pretend they were alright, not that Harry’s nightmares were any better now, but being in Ginny’s arms soothed him, and he calmed her. It was the main reason he let the relationship keep plodding along. He was afraid of being without her. Mrs Weasley had relented after the sleepless nights but forced them all to endure a sex talk, which ranked high in Harry’s most uncomfortable moments.

Ron had tried to explain that they hadn’t bought the condoms but had merely been examining them out of curiosity, but that just led to Mrs Weasley’s lesson in safety charms. No member of Dumbledore’s Army was safe. Harry could now say he was an expert at all safe sex charms, something that never failed to make Ginny laugh.

Harry turned to face the man behind the window, and his face twisted into a dark expression. He was slumped in the chair in the interview room staring blankly at the wall. His eyes were sunken, and his face was waxy; he looked like Sirius after Azkaban but without any trace of former good looks.

“He doesn’t have the mark, but multiple Death Eaters have mentioned his name in an attempt to get their sentences reduced,” Robards sighed. The grey circles under his eyes had only increased since Harry had last seen him. There were still a few big names at large, such as Rosier and Dolohov, and the Ministry needed to keep putting Death Eaters away to keep the public calm.

“Who reported him?” Harry asked.

Robards glowered at the man through the glass. “Lucius Malfoy in one of his many bargaining meetings,” Robards sneered, “as if we’re going to let him off a second time. He may have wormed his way out of Azkaban the first time, but not again. Not under my watch.” A dark looked flittered across the Head Auror’s face. “Watching him receive the Kiss will be a pleasure, though dragging it out is proving to be worthwhile given all the names he’s tossing up in desperation.”

“And Draco?”

Robards’s brow rose, “I wasn’t under the impression you cared for the younger Malfoy.”

Harry frowned and licked his bottom lip. “I don’t think it’s fair to use him as a scapegoat.”

He felt Ginny step in close to him as Robards’s tone turned to ice. “He’s receiving the same treatment as all other Death Eaters, and after all he’s done I would have thought you’d agree with me, Harry.”

“Sorry, but I don’t,” Harry paused, “Sir.” The honorific fell short just as Harry knew it would, and he stared at up at Robards, his face determined. Robards, to his credit, said nothing, but Harry could see the effort that took.

Luna’s lilting voice interrupted their stare off, “I know him.” Ginny instantly wrapped an arm around her friend. “He tortured Griphook, the goblin,” she added for Robards’s benefit, who looked slightly less bothered when Luna provided this piece of information. It seemed Hermione would have to keep working to get wizards to view other beings as equals. “Sometimes on someone’s orders and sometimes for fun.”

Robards nodded and had Luna provide a statement before ushering them out of the Ministry as quickly as he had summoned them. After the cold goodbye he’d been given, Harry wasn’t sure if it would be a week or more before he was invited back. It looked good to have Harry Potter, “Saviour,” seen walking into the Ministry, Kingsley had told Harry, and he had agreed so long as the Ministry played its part in ending its corruption.  The deal had worked for a while. However, with Draco’s case preying on his mind, it was hard for Harry to stand beside the Ministry knowing he was soon going to be fighting it. He didn’t want to see Kingsley or Robards’s faces when they read the statement he was going to provide in addition to Draco’s interview.

* * *

Sunday lunches at the Burrow had been a tradition since long before the war, and they would continue to be for long after. During the week, there was no guarantee which members of Dumbledore’s Army would be at the Burrow, and you could be sure that none of the Weasley brother’s bar Ron would be there, but at the end of the week they all congregated to the Burrow for one of Molly’s famous roasts. Andromeda sometimes came as well, and everyone fussed over baby Teddy, who had learnt that the more he changed his face and hair, the more attention he got. His favourite was electric blue, and Harry was sure that his mother would have been so proud.

It was also the day of Draco’s interview, but Pansy and Hermione had agreed that Harry, Ron, and Hermione didn’t need to be there to see it. Hermione would oversee the final proof before it was sent off to print, and Harry had already provided his statement. It would be in the _Prophet,_ and honestly Harry was practically shitting himself. He knew that Draco providing a tell-all had risks and consequences, but it seemed the best way to redeem him in the public’s eye. The public had to love him, which would be easier if he weren’t such a prickly arsehole, Harry thought as he bounced Teddy up and down on his lap. Ginny was busy pulling faces at Teddy, causing him to giggle and contort his own face to match it or outdo her.

“He looks like he could be yours,” Molly sighed, a soft smile on her face when Teddy’s hair turned into a mop of black to match Harry’s own.

He shifted in the chair, and Ginny’s grin slowly evaporated. This was beginning to happen too frequently for either of their liking. Molly would drop hints about marriage or having children. She liked to remind Harry that his parents had married at his age, and she and Arthur had as well. Both couples had been married in a war and were desperate. Harry was living after a war and was trying to piece himself back together.

Harry tried to imagine married life with Ginny, with kids running about and living in their own place. He tried to imagine growing old together, and sometimes he could just about grasp the picture, and it did make him smile. It was a nice image, but then it would disappear and be replaced by blankness. He had spent the last seven years of his life being unsure he would live another year. He couldn’t think of the future. He didn’t know if he’d ever be able to give Molly what she wanted, and he didn’t even know what Ginny wanted.

Now Ron and Hermione, Harry could picture them growing old together; he could see them as old and happy and still in love, but he didn’t think he could do it himself. He thought he could maybe love Ginny one day. He wasn’t unhappy with her, and it was so easy. She made him feel safe. He frowned and chewed on his lip; it didn’t sound like the big proclamation of love he should feel.

“Can’t have kids for years yet,” Ginny shrugged as she stood up and rubbed the back of her neck. “I’m going to be a professional Quidditch player.”

Molly sighed, “Can’t you think of a more suitable career?” Ginny just rolled her eyes and stalked off. She had long since given up on arguing with her mother over career choices. It wasn’t that Mrs Weasley didn’t want Ginny to have a career, it was more she didn’t understand why having kids wasn’t more important.

Harry wondered if the interview had started yet. He had wanted to be there, but Pansy and Hermione had decided it would be better if he weren’t. Keep it casual and not put too much pressure on Draco. Harry still wanted to be there, as he didn’t trust Rita Skeeter even with the threat Hermione held over her head. He was never going to forgive Skeeter for all the things she’d written about him or his friends.

“You’re thinking about Malfoy, again, aren’t you?” Ron sighed as he dropped down beside Harry and interrupted his thoughts. Harry flushed at being caught in the act and refused to meet Ron’s eyes.

“What makes you say that?”

Ron raised his brows at Harry’s lack of denial and sighed again. “Well, you always were a bit obsessed with him at school.” Ron scratched his nose.

“I hated him,” Harry scowled.

“Hated?”

Ron’s expression was unreadable, and Harry dropped his head into his hands and raked them through his hair, “I dunno mate, like when we spoke the other day I got the feeling that he really did want to make up for all the shit he did.” Ron grunted, and Harry pulled a face. “It’s all complicated.”

“You can say that again… When this is over I never want to see another Malfoy again for as long as I live.”

“You don’t hate Zabini,” Harry pointed out.

“That’s why I said Malfoy.” Ron grinned, getting to his feet and nodding his head in the direction of the huge table they’d set up to accommodate everyone. “Now come sit before mum realises she needs our help with something.”

Harry followed Ron, trying to keep his expression light and pushing all thoughts of Draco from his mind. He wasn’t going to get obsessed with him again, he just wasn’t.

By the time Mrs Weasley had finished force-feeding them enough to feed a country — all the children were all too thin she’d sigh before scooping another portion of potatoes onto their plates and against their protests — and then she’d glare until they’d eaten them all.

Harry clutched his stomach as he lay on the ground, head in Hermione’s lap as George explained to Ron and Lee Jordan the trouble he was having with a new product for the joke shop. Harry knew George hadn’t been able to develop anything new since Fred’s death, or nothing satisfactory at least. George was still half the man he had been before that final battle. He barely joked anymore, and his laugh was weaker and often fell short. Lee had moved into the apartment above the shop with him so he wouldn’t be alone; after a life with Fred at his side, George didn’t deal well with being alone.

“I’m never going to eat again,” Harry whimpered. Ron, with his never-ending stomach, was on his second helping of crumble and shot him a grin through a mouthful of food. The sight cemented the fact Harry never wanted to eat again.

Hermione hummed, “You say that every Sunday.”

“And every Sunday I mean it until Molly forces more food into me.” He felt Hermione giggle and leaned back to look up at her. “What made you decide to forgive Pansy?” He’d been wondering since the two girls had gone for food that second day at the Manor and seemed to come back with some kind of mutual understanding.

“I haven’t forgiven her, per se.” She ran her tongue over her teeth that she’d had magically altered due to years of Pansy’s taunting. “However, she apologised to me and admitted she’d been a conceited, insecure bitch for seven years at Hogwarts.” Harry scoffed. That was putting it lightly. It was like suggesting Draco had been merely a nuisance in Harry’s life. Hermione bopped him on the nose to stop him interrupting. “She asked me to give her a chance to be more than that but said she would understand if I couldn’t forgive her…” Hermione stared at the sky. “And, yeah, it’ll take time, but I think there’s a lot more to Pansy Parkinson than I thought.” Harry couldn’t argue that point; he’d thought of Pansy as cruel and petty, and while he didn’t doubt she was, she was also fearless and loyal to her friends. She’d walked into a den of Gryffindors for Draco.

“I get you,” and Harry did. He was learning there a was a lot more to Draco Malfoy than he’d seen at Hogwarts. He hadn’t even scratched the surface. Hermione gave him a knowing look but didn’t push the issue, which Harry was thankful for. He didn’t know how to explain it either; it had led to another argument with Neville yesterday.

Harry turned back to Ron, who had narrowed his eyes and was staring at the piece of parchment George had handed him. “I mean have you considered--” he glanced up and frowned at the sky. “There’s a fuck off flock of owls!” he spluttered before realising everyone was staring at him. “In the sky you idiots, there are a fuck tonne of owls!”

Everyone scrambled to their feet, eyes trained in the direction Ron was pointing. He hadn’t been wrong. There were in fact a fuck tonne of owls gliding through the sky towards the Burrow. No one moved as the owls started their descent. Harry presumed it had to be the Ministry, but why would they all be sent letters? Perhaps it was Hogwarts, but this thought was pushed aside when the first owl hopped over to where Mr and Mrs Weasley were relaxing in the sun. One by one the owls landed and headed over to someone until only a few people such as Lee Jordan were left without letters.

Harry accepted his letter from a large owl who reminded him painfully of Hedwig. He ran a finger across her soft head, and she hooted at him. He turned to the letter when his eyes started to sting. No one spoke, as they were all focused on the letters in own hands.

Turning the letter over revealed a thick green seal of a dragon curled around the letter M. Harry’s hands trembled at the sight of it. He shot Ron and Hermione a look, but they were both staring wide-eyed at their own envelopes.

Harry ripped his open, unable to contain his curiosity any longer. The paper was heavy and expensive, and elegantly spiked writing covered it.

_~~Potter~~ _

_~~Dear Potter~~ _

_~~Dear Harry~~ _

_Harry,_

_I don’t think any letter will ever do justice to the apology I owe you, as I don’t think words can cover it. However, I am going to try and prove to you that I am redeemable, and these letters are my first attempt at it. I have sent one to everyone who I have wronged in my life, and let me tell you, the list wasn’t short, and the task wasn’t easy. I do not expect forgiveness, I merely want to let people know I am sorry._

_It is you I owe this apology to most, though I will never be able to say it in person. It’s easier doing it on paper. It’s probably because I am the coward you’ve always called me that I can’t do this face to face. I’ll deny it if you ask me, that’s a promise. I hope one day to be able to make it up to everyone fully, but that requires their ability to tolerate my presence and me being able to leave the Manor._

_I am not going to rehash everything I have ever done to you, as there isn’t enough paper, and I have a lot more letters to write. I wish I could turn back time and change it all, but I can’t, so I have to live with it and try move forward. You’re very brave, Harry, and I admire that, and I hope I can deserve all the help you are giving me._

_What started as spite when you rejected my friendship grew to genuine hatred that I’m sure a mind-healer would ascribe to jealousy or bitterness. I think I was just an entitled idiot who had never been told no. These metaphorical healers could be right, I don’t know. I don’t really know much anymore. I’m sorry for all the things I said to you and your friends, and the things I said about you and your friends. I regret it, and I am working to unlearn everything I thought I knew._

_I feel I’m repeating myself and looking like a fool. This is harder than I anticipated._

_Overall, I am sorry, Harry, and all I ask is that you give me a chance to earn your forgiveness one day._

_Yours truly,_

_Draco Malfoy._

Harry read the letter once and then again to check that he wasn’t going insane. He rubbed his eyes and stared at the spikey black writing: he was, in fact, holding an apology from Draco Malfoy in his hand. It appeared that nearly everyone around him was also holding a written apology from Draco Malfoy in their hands. Despite everything, Harry smiled at the paper in front of him, especially at the thick black lines that couldn’t quite obscure what Draco had originally written. Draco was trying. The idiot was trying.

“Mate,” Ron muttered as he stared wide-eyed at his paper before smacking it against his head. “Mate,” he looked over at Harry and laughed, “did you tell him to do this?”

Harry shook his head, “No, I told him to figure out how to redeem himself, but this I think was all him.”

A sudden sob had them all spinning around where Mrs Weasley was buried in Arthur’s shoulder, her body trembling with her cries.

“What did he say?” Ron’s eyes flared as he stepped closer to his parents.

Arthur wrapped an arm around his wife and sighed, “He apologised for everything his family had ever done to ours and any comments he himself had made.” He gave a tight-lipped smile. “He said he had since learnt that despite his father’s teachings, there were worse things to be in the world than a blood traitor.”

“It doesn’t excuse him for all he did,” Neville sneered, his own letter scrunched up in his hand.

“He never said it would,” Harry said. Neville flicked his eyes off him in disgust.

“He apologised for letting the Death Eaters into Hogwarts and causing my injury,” Bill mused. There was no anger in his handsome, yet scarred face.

“He apologised for me being kept in his dungeon,” Luna piped up.

“Same,” Dean laughed. It was a humourless laugh.

One by one people began comparing letters, each full of Draco apologising for comments he had made, things he had done, or consequences for his actions. Even Andromeda had one, much to her amusement, as she had never even met her nephew.

“I’m going to write back,” Luna announced, wrapping a long blonde strand of hair around her finger.

“Why?” Neville demanded.

“He doesn’t deserve it,” George muttered. He had ripped his own letter in half and burnt it. Harry didn’t know what it had said.

“Because I think it was very brave of him-”

“Brave?” Neville scoffed. His face was flushed as he pointed a finger at Luna. “Brave would have been him actually apologising in person.”

Luna raised an eyebrow, “Would you have let him?” Harry often forgot Luna was a Ravenclaw, and it was moments like this where her logic shone through. He sent her a thankful smile. It meant a lot that she was willing to stick up for Draco.

People started to wander away after that, wanting to be alone with their thoughts. Harry wondered how many people would write back. He let Ginny drag him upstairs and fuck him until all thoughts of Draco were gone from his mind. But when they were lying there, cool grey eyes returned to his thoughts, and the pride Draco must have swallowed in order to write those letters —  and even burying himself in Ginny again couldn’t shake the other boy from his mind.

* * *

 Draco Malfoy made Harry stupid, he concluded as he stared up at the Manor’s front door. Pansy and Hermione had agreed that they would meet on Wednesday to discuss how the interview had gone and how the public had perceived it. The campaign had Harry’s name associated with it, so Hermione had checked over Rita’s interview before it went to print. There was no reason for Harry to be standing outside the Manor door completely uninvited, apart from those damn letters.

Those fucking letters where Draco Malfoy had put his pride aside and apologised to all those he had wronged, who had offered to do anything he could to try and  it up to them, and who had accepted that he did not deserve their forgiveness but hoped one day he could earn it.

“It’s just a door,” Harry mumbled as he stared up at the black door. “It’s just a door,” he repeated, rubbing his palms against his trousers. Should he have worn robes? He’d never worn robes on his previous visits to the Manor, but he’d also just never turned up alone before.

He couldn’t wait another day to find about the interview. He wanted to think it was the life debt that was making him so keen to see Draco, but Harry had a feeling he was reaching. He tried to flatten his hair. It was just a door. He was fulfilling his obligation to Narcissa by checking in on Draco’s progress towards being a decent person. Harry pressed the buzzer and stepped back, glancing at the gate behind him; it was a too far away to make a break for it.

“Potter?”

Draco’s confused tone tore him from his escape fantasies, and Harry turned to see the blond boy frowning at him, his head tilted to the side. Harry’s mouth went dry, and he stared at the steps. He shouldn’t have come.

“Thought you were calling me Harry,” he mumbled, feeling like a right idiot.

“Okay, what are you doing here, Harry?” Draco didn’t sound angry, which gave Harry the confidence to glance up through his lashes at the taller boy. He looked dishevelled again. Harry liked dishevelled Malfoy. He blushed at the thought and made a solemn vow to never, ever say it out loud, especially in his friends’ vicinity. Seamus would have gay joke fodder for the rest of his life, and Ron would just send Harry to St Mungos.

Draco frowned, and Harry realised he still hadn’t spoken, “I- urm- wanted to see how the interview went, you know,” he claimed, “the letters! And speak to you about the letters?”

This time Draco flushed and stared at the floor, which put Harry at a great deal more ease. They were both on their back foot now.

“The letters,” Draco drawled, clearly trying to stay composed.

“The letters,” Harry nodded, “and the interview.”

Draco hummed and wrapped his arms around himself, his mouth twisted, “Where are Granger and Weasley?”

“Busy,” Harry lied. He hadn’t told them he was coming here. He was worried they’d accuse him of being obsessed again and try to hold an intervention. He was just bored and curious. Shrugging, Draco stepped back and gestured for Harry to step inside. “Pans and Blaise aren’t here, it’s just me,” he added before Harry took a step, as if assuming that would change his mind.

“That’s fine with me, is it fine with you?” Harry asked, trying to keep himself from smiling too widely. He’d been hoping for that, hoping that he and Draco could have another conversation with just the two of them. Their last one had been fruitful, excluding the part where Harry had pushed Draco into the lake…

Draco’s eyebrows shot up, and he smirked. “That’s fine with me.” Something Harry didn’t recognise flashed over Draco’s face, but it was gone in an instant as he turned away, and Harry scuttled forward to follow him. It was only when the door slammed shut that he realised he’d just willingly walked into a house of people who had once wanted him dead. And no one knew where he was. Moody would be rolling in his grave. This was the complete opposite of constant vigilance, though how much Draco had wanted Harry dead was debatable in the end, seeing as how Draco had refused to identify him.

Harry dragged his hands through his hair as he looked around the kitchen where Draco had led him. Molly kept begging Harry to get it cut, but right now it was the same length Sirius’s had been before he died, and Harry didn’t want to lose another piece of his godfather. He had his mother’s eyes, his father’s face, and his godfather’s hair. It made him feel connected to them. Draco’s hair was longer too; it dangled over his cheekbones when loose. Harry was glad, as any longer and Draco would start to look even more like his father.

The kitchen was clean and bright with deep mahogany cupboards covered in marble counters. In the centre, there was an island with green stools around it. The thing that surprised Harry the most was the gleaming silver fridge; he’d never noticed a fridge in the Weasley house, and that struck him as strange. He knew magic and electricity didn’t work well together, so what on earth where the Malfoys doing with a fridge?

“We had to have an electrician sent in.” Draco’s voice broke through his thoughts. He’d clearly caught onto Harry’s staring. “With no magic, the Manor’s own magic doesn’t work, and well, we had nowhere to keep food or any lights.” He was staring at Harry in that way that dared Harry to challenge him.

“I can imagine your father liked that,” Harry laughed, and for a moment he thought he’d gone too far as Draco’s jaw locked before the other boy grinned rakishly.

“I haven’t seen him have such a fit in years,” Draco replied, and Harry caught the other boy’s smile. “Blaise recommended what to get and helped us set everything up.”

Harry then spotted the aga, the blender, and the brand spanking new coffee machine in the corner. He was surprised by Draco’s admission that Zabini had been the one to recommend the Muggle equipment. Harry had presumed Zabini was just as Muggle hating as the rest of the Slytherins, given his comment about the Weasleys being blood traitors in sixth year.

“His mother married a Muggle a couple of husbands back,” Draco explained, his nose wrinkled, “It was a huge scandal at the time, but she Olivia Zabini-ed him, so no one cared too much.”

Harry had heard the stories of Zabini’s mother and her disappearing husbands. Why men still thought it was a good idea to marry her, Harry didn’t know. “So, it was fine that she married a Muggle because she then killed him?” Draco opened his mouth and flushed at Harry’s dry tone; it was clear that was what Draco had been insinuating, and this time the silence that fell was awkward. Harry shuffled his feet. He didn’t regret pushing Draco to think about the things he said, but the silence was building and he hated it.

“I don’t think Muggles deserve to die,” Draco confided. His voice was soft and uneven and he began chewing on his lip. “I don’t hate them either.” Harry’s head snapped up, and he met the grey eyes. He nodded, the tension seeping from his body at Draco’s confession. It was a step in the right direction. “Do you want anything to eat? I can’t say I have any talent for cooking but I can-” Draco was staring into the fridge, and he sighed, “I can try.”

Harry stepped up beside Draco and peered into the fridge. It was teeming with ingredients that he reckoned none of the Malfoys knew how to use. “I can teach you if you want?” He surprised himself at the offer, and Draco swung around staring at him. It was only then that Harry realised how close he’d been standing to the other boy. They were now only an eyelash’s distance from each other. Draco swallowed, and Harry forgot how to function. Draco’s eyes up close were grey-flecked with cool silver, and his lips were thin and dry. Harry pulled his eyes back up to Draco’s eyes; he wasn’t sure why he’d even noticed the other’s lips.

“You want to teach me to cook?” Draco’s voice was soft and shaky, his breath warm on Harry’s cheek. Draco raised an eyebrow, and the moment was shattered. Harry stumbled back trying to put distance between the two of them.

He nodded, trying to keep his heart from pounding in his chest. “Yeah, if you want me to, I’d be willing.” Draco’s mouth was still twisted into a half-smile as he regarded Harry. “I had to cook for my aunt and uncle as a kid, and I got pretty good at it before Hogwarts.” Harry wasn’t sure what made him confess this to Draco Malfoy of all people, but it felt good.

“Before Hogwarts?”

“Yeah, they stopped once I enrolled.” He didn’t need to tell Draco it was because they had been afraid of him as a wizard.

Draco straightened his jumper and shrugged. He didn’t press the issue further but stepped back and gestured for Harry to take the lead. Harry inspected the fridge and decided on spaghetti bolognaise; if they made a large batch of sauce then the Malfoys could freeze it, and either not rely on others for their cooking, or stop eating only sandwiches.

Whatever knack Draco had always had in potions class did not seem to transfer into cooking, and despite Harry’s efforts to include him in the lessons Draco seemed a lot happier just perching on the island and watching Harry. That’s not to say the lesson hadn’t been amusing, as Draco wrinkled his nose in disgust at the mince and rubbed his eyes in outrage when they watered from the onion. It was easy for Harry to forget what had brought him here and their shared animosity as they cooked.

Draco pulled a face at Harry’s questions about the interview but said it had gone well. Skeeter had always liked Draco due to his articles in fourth year; he shot Harry a rueful smile at that, but Harry just waved him off. Those articles were the least offensive thing Draco had ever done. She’d asked horribly intrusive questions and taken a couple of photos.  Draco had tried to be as honest as possible about his terror of being a Death Eater and how he hadn’t wanted to, but he’d been afraid for himself and his family. He’d even confessed to the confrontation with Dumbledore on the Astronomy Tower and how he’d lowered his wand, ready to listen to how Dumbledore could help before the other Death Eaters had burst in. Harry nodded at that. He knew he’d seen something in Draco’s face that night.

“I told her my father disillusioned me,” Draco said as he stirred the sauce, brow furrowed. “I blamed him for whispering in my ear all the things I’d grown up believing.” Harry didn’t say anything; he didn’t think Draco wanted him to. “I know I could have made better choices, but I still sometimes --” his words choked, “— I still blame them sometimes.” Them. Draco blamed not only Lucius, but Narcissa for the life that had been forged for him, their promises of power under Voldemort that they, like so many other foolish people, had believed.

Draco didn’t look up from the sauce as Harry fished around in the fridge and the cupboards before placing all the ingredients on the counter. “Let’s make brownies too!” The smile Draco gave him cleaved him in two, and he decided he’d ask about the letters another day. He knew deep down why Draco had sent them. Harry wanted to smooth the vulnerability out of the other boy’s face, and brownies seemed a good distraction for now.

As usual with the two of them it did not run as smoothly as Harry had planned. All he had done was innocently flick Draco in the face with flour for being absolutely fucking useless when it came to cooking and the outrage on his face had been priceless. You’d have thought that Harry had just placed a curse on Draco and his family for all generations to come.

“Potter-” Draco started before Harry corrected him. “Harry,” he sighed, still gazing at him, his arms folded.

“Yes, Draco?” Harry said, trying to plaster an innocent expression on his face as he stirred the batter.

Draco rolled his eyes and stepped closer to Harry. Draco tilted his head, “Do you have an issue?”

“Not at all,” Harry nodded, a grin spreading across his face as Draco arched a brow.

A soft sigh left Draco’s mouth and he licked his lips. “Too bad,” he drawled before reaching out and chucking a handful of flour in Harry’s face, then dancing back gleefully.

Harry spluttered and wiped his hand across his face, “You got me way worse!” he protested, already reaching for the flour while Draco was distracted, cackling at his own victory. Harry waited until Draco’s mouth was open and tossed it at his face. Draco choked on his laugh and the flour. He looked even more pale than normal.

“You’re dead, Potter!” he said, grabbing the bag of cocoa powder and lobbing a handful at Harry. Harry didn’t mind that Draco said his surname when he was laughing. Harry ducked out the way and picked up the bag of flour. It didn’t even occur to him how ridiculous it was that he was having a food fight with Draco Malfoy in Malfoy Manor. Harry was having too much fun. It was like when he was flying and he could forget all about the past. They were just two boys being idiots.

As all things did between the two of them, the fight escalated, leading to Draco cracking an egg on Harry’s head and Harry flinging the brownie batter at Draco, using the spoon as a slingshot. The floor was littered with forgotten ingredients, and Harry felt that he should have seen the disaster coming as he stepped on an egg that had missed its target and face-planted onto the floor. Draco then had to sit down beside Harry, as he was too busy howling with laughter to stand up. They both looked ridiculous covered in flour, egg, and cocoa powder.

“You’re a lot nicer looking when you smile.” The words spilt out of Harry’s mouth as he thought them. It was true: Draco did look a lot kinder when he wasn’t sneering. Draco paused and stared at Harry, mouth dropping in shock.

“You think I look nice?”

“Yeah,” Harry shrugged, not understanding Draco’s confusion. Most people looked nice when they genuinely smiled, the exception being people like Bellatrix and Voldemort —  also Umbridge.

Draco’s face contorted as he pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes. “Are you taking the piss of me?”

“What? No? I don-” Harry flushed when he realised how Draco had interpreted what he’d said. God, he was an idiot. “I meant you looked kinder when you smile, less sneery and cruel.” Draco laughed. “Not that you’re not good-looking when you smile but it wasn’t-” Draco was still laughing at him. “You know what? I give up.”

“Thanks, I think,” Draco grinned. “I suppose-”

“I hope we’re not interrupting anything?” That cold familiar drawl sent shivers down Harry’s spine as he turned to see Lucius Malfoy regarding them both as if they were nothing more than something the peacocks had dragged in. His face was hollow, which only increased its sharpness. A dark head appeared. It was Nott and, his expression was sour as he took the scene in.

Draco’s shoulders went rigid as he jumped to his feet and tried to smooth out his hair, his head bowed and his mouth tight. He looked pathetic. Harry slowly got to his feet and crossed his arms as he stared at Lucius Malfoy’s cold face. He could feel Nott’s eyes burning into him, and he shot the other boy a sneer.

Cheeks red, Draco shook his head, “No, Father, Harry was just leaving.” Harry glanced at Draco and scowled. _Coward_.

Lucius let out a disbelieving sound and regarded the mess. “First name basis with our hero? Who would have thought Draco,” he laughed softly, and Harry was under the impression Lucius Malfoy had never been less amused. Nott’s mouth only twisted further, his eyes now on Draco. “Clean this mess up before your mother sees it.” Draco nodded and continued staring at the floor.

“I’ll go,” Harry muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets and glancing at Draco, who refused to look at him. Harry didn’t bother saying that he’d see Draco tomorrow. Harry didn’t think it would do anyone any good. He seethed at all the fucking Malfoys, and stormed out of the kitchen, making sure to barge into Nott on his way out. Harry hated them all anyway.

As Harry marched along the path, he kept waiting to see if Draco would follow him, but Draco didn’t, and really Harry shouldn’t have expected any differently. He hated that he was stupid enough to hope; despite everything Draco had said about resenting his father earlier, he would always pick Lucius. A vindictive pleasure shot through Harry at the thought of Lucius finally being given the Kiss he deserved, and Harry apparated back to the Burrow thriving on the thought and at the return of his magic.

* * *

Harry had expected the Ministry to be unimpressed that he had put his influence behind Draco when the article was published. He had not expected that he would be summoned to Kingsley’s office that morning. Or the look of utter outrage on Robards’s face as Harry entered the room accompanied by Hermione and Ron; Kingsley at least managed to keep his features neutral.

“Hello, Harry, Hermione, Ron,” he nodded, pressing his fingers together, his dark eyes fixed on them.

“Minister,” Harry said, nodding his own head out of respect.

Robards cleared his throat and shot Hermione and Ron a cautious look. “We only asked for Harry Potter...” he trailed off seeing the wrath that flashed over Hermione’s features.

Ron just shrugged and slumped down in a seat. “People normally only want Harry, hasn’t stopped us yet.” Harry shot his mate a grin and sat down beside him, Hermione following, releasing a small huff. Robards scowled but didn’t say anything else; the set of Ron’s shoulders made it apparent that Ron and Hermione weren’t going anywhere.

Kingsley shuffled the papers on his desk, “I’m sure you know why we asked you to come in.”

“No,” Harry lied.

The corner of Kingsley’s mouth twitched. He knew that Harry didn’t deal well with authority, and Kingsley was trying to avoid sounding too commanding. “It’s about article and the statement you issued to Rita Skeeter concerning Draco Malfoy.” Kingsley paused and passed Harry the day’s _Prophet_.

Harry was struck by how good the article looked again. He’d been impressed this morning, and the fact it had created such a stir this high up in the Ministry impressed him even more. Draco looked solemn and handsome with his trademark smirk in one of the smaller pictures. Skeeter had pulled out all the stops with the article: it was moving, tragic, and honest. Draco did not make excuses for his actions but offered explanations, and even Mrs Weasley had let out a sniffle when reading about how Voldemort had threatened his family and the never-ending fear he had endured having Voldemort and the Death Eaters in his house.

 _The Boy Who Had No Choice: Draco Malfoy Bares All_ was the headline at the top of the page with a smaller subheading — _The Boy Who Lived Supports Old School Friend_ underneath _._ Harry couldn’t help but smirk at that. Old school friend. Skeeter had a sense of humour after all.

“Do you know what you’re doing to our investigation?” Robards burst out. The vein in his forehead pulsed. Kingsley shot Robards a look, and he backed down, fists clenched as he stood in the corner.

Running a finger across the article Harry said, “I told you I didn’t support how you were treating Draco.” Robards seethed. Kingsley’s own face remained unreadable. “He deserves a second chance, a chance to prove he can be a good person, and he can never get that if you give him the Kiss or stick him in Azkaban for years.”

“Not to mention his most heinous crimes were committed as an underage wizard, yet you’re trying him as an adult,” Hermione added. Harry gave her a grateful smile.

“We are trying to prevent other young scumbags like him from following dark wizards! He’s a registered Death Eater,” Robards growled.

“Show them that there is still time to change instead! Draco made a mistake,” Harry said, green eyes flashing. He clenched his fists, trying to ensure that his magic didn’t accidentally boil over and set something on fire. “You won’t change their views by punishing Draco, you’ll just keep them quiet. However, if Draco shows them how to move past the things they were taught, then they can move forward as well.”

“How do you know this isn’t just another Malfoy scheme to save their own skins?” Kingsley asked, “I want to be fair, but you don’t know the Malfoys like I do.”

“You don’t know Draco like I do,” Harry replied firmly. He’d seen the change in Draco’s confession yesterday about not even hating Muggles anymore. He’d seen it in Draco lowering his wand against Dumbledore, and he’d read it in those letters

Ron sighed and leaned forward, “Look Kingsley, Minister,” he corrected when Kingsley raised his eyebrows. “I have spent the last seven years despising Draco Malfoy, and I still don’t like him.” Harry shot Ron a look trying to figure out where the fuck this was going. “However, I do think he regrets his actions and wants to change. In the last couple of weeks, he’s become a lot less dicky, and he apologised to everyone he’s ever hurt. That’s a lot of apologies and for someone as proud as Malfoy, it’s got to mean something.” He rubbed his nose. “Give him another chance.”

Harry waited with bated breath as Kingsley pursed his lips. “I will vouch for him,” Harry promised.

“The trial will go ahead as planned, and if you fail to convince the jury that he is a changed man, then Draco will be offered the Kiss,” Kingsley said, holding up a hand to stop them all from interrupting. “I do not mean that he merely regrets his actions. I want to see that his views are changed, and that he has a plan to make up for his wrongdoing, and a plan for the future.” Harry, Ron, and Hermione all nodded and Robards’s scowl deepened. “Prove this and Draco Malfoy will walk free.”

“Minister-” Robards started, but Kingsley held up his hand again.

“You may continue your investigation and prosecution of the boy, Robards.” He sat back and shuffled his papers. “Better get going. I imagine you’re all going to be rather busy.”

Harry jumped up and offered a small thanks to Kingsley, while deliberately ignoring Robards.  Harry, Ron, and Hermione used Kingsley’s own personal floo to returned to the Burrow. Harry knew that if he were seen in public, he would be mobbed by reporters asking questions about Draco that he didn’t know how to answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wahoo, i hope you liked it! This chapter was certainly fun to write  
> Please leave kudos if you did like it and reading your comments makes me so happy


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update!! Told you it wouldn't take longg :)  
> As you may have noticed I have updated the fic and can inform you that it will be 17 updates in total. 16 Chapter and an Epilogue.  
> Anywayy, I certainly hope your enjoying reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!  
> Kudos and comments make my life better  
> Come say hi on tumblr: @callingdrarry

“He’s going to get off!” Pansy cheered, leaning over and high fiving Blaise before wrapping her arms around Draco, who bit his lip and continued to avoid Harry’s eyes. It seemed it was always going to be one step forward and two steps back with them. That didn’t mean Harry was willing to stop trying yet.

Clearing her throat, Hermione said, “We can’t drop our game yet. Robards is going to throw everything he has behind this case. He wants all the Malfoys locked up or Kissed.” She shot Draco an apologetic look, but he was too busy staring at the floor to notice.

“Robards is a dick,” Blaise shrugged, his usually impassive face curving into an elegant smile. He certainly had inherited all his mother’s good looks.

Ron laughed, “Got to agree with you there, Zabini.”

“Nothing you say can bring me down, Hermione,” Pansy said, planting a sloppy kiss on Draco’s cheek and laughing as he shoved her away. “He’s going to get off.” The amount of conviction in Pansy’s voice almost had Harry agreeing. He made a mental note to ask Hermione what had happened between Draco and Pansy or what was still happening. There had been something there at some point: Harry was sure of it. He hadn’t noticed most people’s relationships at Hogwarts, but he’d noticed theirs.

Spread across the coffee table in front of them were all the newspapers released that day and the previous night with comments on Draco’s interview.  Overall it had been received a lot better than Harry had anticipated. He hadn’t realised how nervous he’d been about its reception. Of course, there were a couple of articles that called it another “Malfoy Manipulation” and “Draco Death Eater Scum,” but overall the editorials were positive. Just as Hermione had intended, The Boy Who Had No Choice was being compared to The Boy Who Lived, , whose fates were  both decided before they were born and their actions born of circumstances beyond their control.

“Now we need to alert people about the cruelty and injustice of the Ministry trying to give Draco the Kiss,” Hermione said, staring at the list they’d made at the beginning. Draco had only mentioned his trial briefly in the interview, saying his biggest fear was losing his soul before he could make up for his mistakes.  “We need to really hammer home the fact that he can’t change if he’s basically dead,” Hermione continued. Draco’s face was impassive. “I was thinking that Harry could write a letter and submit it to the _Prophet_.”

Ron scoffed, “Robards will really appreciate that.”

Suddenly the thought of writing the letter became slightly more appealing, but Harry still pulled a face. Hermione shot him a sympathetic look.

“I can write it if you want?”

He sighed and tried and failed to catch Draco’s eye. “No, I’ll give it a go.” Hermione nodded and turned back to Pansy, continuing their discussion.

“Right, the next part of our mission,” Pansy clapped a little while later, forcing the boys to drop their Quidditch discussion. There had been a silent agreement that the girls were better at planning than the boys, so they let them get on with it.

It was strange to think of forming such an easy dynamic with the Slytherins—  when Draco wasn’t being a giant git. So, what he got caught having a food fight with Harry? It’s not like they were fucking! He flushed at the thought and was glad that Draco wasn’t looking at him, as if he’d know that Harry had been thinking about fucking him. Harry dragged his hands through his hair and ducked his head; what was he doing with his life?

“You alright mate?” Ron whispered, leaning in closer to Harry, who pulled away from his thoughts to realise everyone was staring at him, even Draco. Harry caught those grey eyes and deliberately looked away in case he blushed again.

“Yeah, fine, sorry, what were you saying Pansy?” he replied, desperate to deflect the attention on him. He was not thinking of him and Draco sodding Malfoy in any sort of compromising way, no matter how handsome the other boy was.

Pansy rolled her eyes. “Mission ‘Saving Draco Malfoy’ is well and truly a go, so it’s time to begin the second part.” Her red lips curled into a smirk, “which I like to call ‘Educating Draco Malfoy.’” Draco let out an indignant splutter, but Pansy just ignored him and continued, “Our aim is to educate Draco about the muggle world, tolerance, and how not to treat people like shit for disagreeing with him.”

“So basically, we’re giving him a personality makeover,” Blaise deadpanned, grinning as Draco pulled a childish face at him. Harry was just glad that stoic mask was gone.

“I hardly think either of you two are qualified to educate me about tolerating muggles,” Draco muttered, and Harry had to give him that one.

“We’re not, but luckily we happen to have a blood traitor, a muggle-born, and the Saviour himself at our disposal,” Pansy grinned, waving her arm at Harry, Ron and Hermione as if they were a celebrity panel. “What more could you want?”

Draco’s cold eyes drifted over all of them, and he sighed, “What more could we want indeed.”

“A team name?” Blaise interjected.

“I thought we were team saving Draco Malfoy?” Ron asked, his nose wrinkling at his blatant distaste of the name. Draco flipped him off, but there was no heat behind the action. Harry snickered, and Draco caught Harry’s eye and smiled before looking away quickly when Draco realised what he’d done.

“We are not having a team name,” Draco sighed.

Blaise rolled his eyes, “Spoilsport.”

“How about Team Slytherdor?” Pansy piped up, looking particularly pleased with herself.

Ron and Draco both started to protest, but they were shut down with a wave of Pansy’s hand that reminded Harry of Kingsley. Harry hadn’t been wrong when he’d decided that Pansy and Hermione could rule the world if they set themselves too it.

“Grifferin?” Hermione countered, her eyes alight with amusement.

“That’s even worse,” Draco groaned.

“I quite like Slytherdor,” Blaise mused.

“We are not having a team name that sounds so much like Slytherin!” Ron said.

“You’re all idiots,” Draco muttered, causing Harry to laugh.

“Well Gryfferin sounds too much like Gryffindor to be neutral,” Pansy shrugged.

Harry leaned back on the sofa and watched as his friends and the Slytherins began coming up with even more ridiculous team names. He smiled at how much everything had changed in the last three weeks. They had just over a month until Draco’s trial and had a lot of progress to make, but as he caught Draco’s eye when Blaise suggested the team name _Muggle Lovin’,_ Harry knew it wasn’t going to be as hard as Kingsley or Robards thought. There was something so beautiful about Draco’s unguarded smile, and Harry let that thought sweep him away.

* * *

 

Since it was a beautiful afternoon, Harry found Hermione right where Harry expected her to be:  outside with a book in her lap. The book lay forgotten as Hermione was busy chatting with Ginny, using large hand gestures and a multitude of different facial expressions to drive home the point she was trying to make.

“What you reading?” Harry asked, dropping down next to Hermione and shooting Ginny a grin. He hadn’t seen her much recently, as he’d been too caught up with Draco and all the drama he stirred up. Hermione held up the cover of some muggle romance he didn’t recognise. “Good?”

“Yeah, sometimes it’s nice to just have something easy to read.”

“Can’t relate,” he admitted, laughing as Ginny pulled a face at the thought of him doing extra reading. His favourite book had been _Quidditch Through The Ages_ since he was eleven, and he couldn’t see it changing anytime soon.

Hermione rolled her eyes at both of them before launching back into her discussion of what department in the Ministry she wanted to work in and why. Her overall aim was to do the most good. It was why she refused to start work before returning to Hogwarts; she didn’t think she’d be able to optimise her job opportunities without the correct qualifications, and Hermione Granger was not going to be held back by someone pointing out she didn’t have her N.E.W.T ’s. Harry and Ron were more than happy to be pushed straight up the auror ladder and skip the exams, though Harry wasn’t sure how keen Robards would be to allow them in, what with the Draco situation.

“Now what did you want to ask me?”

Harry glanced over at Hermione who was looking at him expectantly, “What’d you mean?”

“You had your question face on,” she grinned at Ginny, who snorted.

“I do not have a question face!”

“You do, though it’s extremely like your confused face,” Ginny said.

He gave her a shove before turning back to Hermione, as he had to concede he did have a question, “I was just thinking this morning at Draco’s, what happened between him and Pansy? Are they still together?”

“It’s still weird to hear you call him Draco,” Ginny muttered.

Hermione stared at him, her eyes narrowed and brow creased, “No, Pansy said they ended over ‘irreconcilable differences.’” She played with the pages of her book.

“Oooh gossip, what differences?” Ginny said, leaning into the conversation, her brown eyes wide.

“Well, Pansy didn’t explain, but I’ve been thinking,” she shot Harry a glance, “I think Malfoy’s gay.”

It was said in such a matter-of-fact Hermione way that Harry didn’t process what she’d said for a moment before he blinked slowly. He had completely lost the ability to formulate words.

Ginny let out a soft whistle, “No way, what makes you think that?”

Harry still couldn’t think of anything to say; his mind had stopped working. The suggestion of Draco Malfoy being gay was laughable.

“Well,” Hermione looked at him again, “it was the comments from Pansy when I asked about it. She suggested that she’d never be able to please Malfoy, and at first I presumed it was because he was a chippy dick but-” Ginny clicked her fingers under Harry’s nose and he slowly blinked. “-- then we saw Nott that morning in his room with the love bites and neither of them were properly dressed, and well, they did kind of look post-sex… Harry are you okay?”

It was a good question, as Harry didn’t know if he was okay. He wasn’t quite sure why it mattered to him so much whether Draco could be gay, but it did.

“He was always rather obsessed with Harry,” Ginny added, “and if you think he’s fucking Nott, they’re not too dissimilar looking.”

Harry made a pathetic splutter of protest, and Hermione sighed.

“This is why I didn’t want to tell you.”

“I do not look like Theodore Nott!” he tangled his fingers in the grass and counted to ten before glowering at Ginny. “and Draco wasn’t obsessed with me.” Ginny raised an eyebrow, and Hermione made a non-committal noise.

“Fine, you’re better looking than Nott and you were both obsessed with each other,” Ginny shrugged Harry started to protest, but she just started talking over him about something else, clearly bored of Draco talk.

The thought of Draco and Nott together made Harry’s stomach clench. He’d seen how energetic and full of life Draco could be, and then there was Nott who always looked sullen and bored. Harry supposed he’d never really spoken to Nott, but he had no interest in doing so. He remembered the disdain in Nott’s eyes at the sight of them outside of Draco’s room and then again standing with Lucius after Harry and Draco’s food fight. Nott was a self-absorbed dick, and so was Draco most of the time, so why should Harry care if they were fucking? He didn’t care, he just had hoped that Draco, with all his self-improvement, would have better taste than Theodore Nott. Harry told himself he wasn’t going to dwell on it, but as with everything concerning Draco, he was having difficulty pushing it out of his mind.

Hermione pulled Harry aside that evening and made him promise he wouldn’t be cruel to Draco about his sexuality, and Harry assured her he wouldn’t. He was offended that she thought he might. The only thing he cared about was Draco’s abysmal taste in men. Harry tried discussing it with Ron, but Ron had taken to feigning deafness if Draco was mentioned out of the designated times for discussing the plan. His Draco feelings being ignored was a painfully familiar feeling.

* * *

“Can you believe that I, Draco Malfoy, have been blessed with the privilege of having the Saviour, the Chosen One, the Hero of the Wizarding World, personally tutoring me in muggle studies?”

Harry fought to keep the grin off his face. “I’m trying to teach you tolerance and how not to be an arse.”

Draco pulled a face and tucked a strand of blond hair behind his ear. “Waste of time if you ask anyone who knows me.”

“I don’t think it’s a waste of time,” Harry said. He liked it when Draco paused and a softer smile settled on his face.

“Yes, well you’re you,” Draco muttered, turning his nose up and glancing out of the window. “Harry Potter, Saviour of the forgotten and downtrodden. You always did have a penchant for pathetic things.” There was no heat in his barb, so Harry let it slide.

They were sat in the Manor’s main library, which apparently was different his Lucius’s own personal library as well as the Malfoy family library. Harry was sure it would be Hermione’s idea of a wet dream if the libraries weren’t full of books on pureblood prejudice and dark magic, which if he knew anything about Lucius, they were.

The room had huge windows and light spread everywhere. It wasn’t as Harry had expected. Like the rest of the Manor, it was showing signs of wear without the house elves around to clean. Harry wanted to know what had happened to them but assumed Draco probably had no idea.

“So, what are we starting with, Professor?” Draco smirked, and Harry flushed at his words.

“Fuck off, Malfoy,”

“Ooh, Malfoy is it now?”

There was the same easy smile on Draco’s face that he only wore when they were alone together. It wasn’t quite the same whenever Hermione and Ron were there. There was always that wary glint in Draco’s eyes, but it disappeared when he and Harry were left alone.

Harry rolled his eyes and pulled out the list of things to discuss with Draco that Hermione had given him. It was meant to be both Harry and Hermione talking to Draco, but Hermione had decided at the last minute that Harry would get on better alone and sent him on his way. He hadn’t been able to read her face, and since he hadn’t told anyone about the other time he’d gone over to Draco’s alone, he’d concluded she wasn’t up to something. Harry didn’t know why he hadn’t told anyone that he’d gone and seen Draco alone, but he knew they’d overreact as they always did when it came to him and Draco.

“Come on then, I have things to do with my time.” Draco sighed as he played with the hem of his sleeve. Harry had noticed that Draco always wore long tops or jumpers.  The only times Harry had seen the mark were when Draco wasn’t expecting him, such as the first they met and when Draco had been hung over.

“What exactly do you have to do with your time, apart from prepare from your trial?” Harry asked, before cringing as he realised he was channelling his inner Hermione.

Draco scowled and crossed his arms. The sunlight was shining on his hair and it glowed. “I’ve been doing a lot of reading?”

“Reading what?” Harry asked as he stared at Hermione’s list. If Draco enjoyed reading then they could start with muggle literature, but he suspected that Hermione wanted him to teach Draco how muggles lived first before moving onto culture.

“History books mainly. I’m not a huge fiction reader.” Harry pulled a face, and Draco kicked him under the table. “Just because Binns was boring.”

Harry kicked him back. “Anyway, I thought we’d start with muggle politics.”

Draco groaned loudly, “I hate politics.” Harry raised his eyebrows. He was surprised by that, given Lucius’s involvement with the Ministry and Draco’s childhood obsession with his father. “My father was always a Ministry man, always wanted me to follow in his footsteps, but I don’t know… I never really wanted to,” Draco confessed.

“What did you want to be?”

“A Quidditch player, but I wasn’t good enough.” Harry smirked at Draco’s concession, and Draco pouted. “Well, I wasn’t with you catching the fucking snitch every time, was I?” Harry preened. “My father made it very clear every time you beat me that it was an unrealistic dream.” There was evident bitterness in Draco’s tone, and Harry was once again filled with hatred for Lucius Malfoy. Fathers weren’t supposed to crush their kid’s dreams.

Harry leaned forward and caught those grey eyes. “What did you want to be after that?”

“Happy.” The confession was soft and short, and Draco’s voice was barely above a whisper. He didn’t drop eye contact as he chewed on his lip. “Fucked that up, didn’t I.”

“What do you mean?” Harry began biting at the skin around his nails. He felt Draco’s eyes flicker to Harry’s fidgeting before returning back to his face.

“Don’t know, just, do I deserve to be happy?” Harry felt as if he’d been hit by a stunner as he saw the vulnerability etched into Draco’s face and heard the rawness of his voice.

Instinctively Harry reached out and gripped one of Draco’s pale, elegant hands, and traced his thumb across Draco’s wrist. Draco gave a short intake of breath but didn’t move. “You deserve to be happy, Draco. You deserve a second chance at it all.” Harry promised, voice even. He could feel Draco’s pulse fluttering against his fingers and could sense his own heart beating in time. Neither of them moved. They sat there staring into each other’s eyes before Harry pulled back with a cough, and Draco dropped his eyes to the ground. “How about we start with muggle substitutes for magic?” Harry said, desperate to change the subject and stop his racing heart. Why did this keep happening? Draco sodding Malfoy was not meant to make his heart race.

“Sounds enthralling,” Draco drawled, and Harry took it as encouragement to start.

Despite Draco’s disparaging comments and rolling eyes, their first lesson went with what Harry could only call swimming success. Draco listened and was attentive and declared one couldn’t hate muggles, as they were so pitiful. Harry kicked him again, but the gleam in those silver eyes meant he didn’t kick Draco too hard.

Over the next few days Harry spent more and more time with Draco, and their lessons were getting better. Harry had loved teaching DA, and this was just as much fun.

Hermione was supplying him with muggle literature and history books to give Draco to read, in his own time, and Harry was pretty sure Draco would have more muggle knowledge than any other pureblood by the time the trial was over. The lessons were hilarious due to Draco’s severe pig-headedness as a pureblood combined with his lack of muggle knowledge. Harry was surprised at the way Draco had thrown himself into the muggle history lessons, and he would come back after a day of reading knowing more than Harry. He had never pegged Draco as a History nerd, and Pansy had given Harry a pleading look to never bring it up in front of her again when he’d mentioned it. Most of the time Harry and Draco spent alone, though sometimes Pansy or Hermione popped in for an hour or so. Ron, having established that neither of them were going to get hurt at the Manor, had shirked his duties as much as Hermione would allow him. Pansy had tried to explain that Draco never did anything halfway, whether it was his studies or his emotions, and Harry was starting to believe her. He had never seen anyone rival Hermione on a quest for knowledge, yet here was Draco diving straight into the world that he had been brought up to hate. It was quite endearing. Ginny argued it was probably due to his determination to save his own skin, but Harry didn’t want to believe that. He knew there was more to it.

He could feel himself drifting away from Ginny, could feel them running through the motions they had always been through with nothing there. He tried to find a way to explain the lack he was feeling whenever she looked at him but instead he swallowed it down and kissed her. It was easier that way, and after the war he liked things easy. The only thing in his life that wasn’t easy was Draco, but he relished that challenge. Draco’s sharp tongue was nowhere near as vicious as Harry had once thought it was. In fact, sometimes Draco’s comebacks merely amounted to him telling people to ‘fuck off’. That wasn’t to say Draco couldn’t be downright nasty if cornered, but Harry was learning to ignore it.

He knew that Hermione had threatened him not to mention her suspicions that Draco was gay, but Harry had so many questions. When had he known? How did he know? What was the difference between finding boys attractive and wanting to fuck them? That question had been plaguing him since he’d learned about Draco’s sexuality. He’d always found boys attractive, but he’d never thought about it further than that. He couldn’t be gay as he enjoyed fucking Ginny, but he’d also always thought Bill was hot. Harry’s head was a mess, and it hurt. The final question he wanted to ask Draco was what on earth he was doing with someone like Theodore Nott?

* * *

 The lights of the club seared down on his tanned skin as Harry took the drink Hermione offered. His head was spinning, and his heart was thudding in time with the muggle songs he didn’t recognise. He felt free again. Even surrounded by the moving bodies of his closest friends and those he didn’t recognise, he felt free.

Seamus had been begging Dumbledore’s Army to go out for a while, but they’d refused to go to Wizarding clubs because of getting mobbed, and Harry knew he’d be no good at controlling a stinging hex while drunk. It had been Dean’s idea that nearly all of Dumbledore’s Army and a few other friends try a muggle club in London and then crash at Grimmauld Place. Harry had been less than keen to return there, but he hadn’t wanted to let his friends down, and he knew he’d be fine if he was with them. It was only when he was alone that he heard Sirius’s and Remus’s laughter chasing him through the corridors.

Harry let the shot of whatever burn down his throat and laughed as Hermione dragged him back onto the dance floor. Ron’s long arms and legs flailed as he danced, but Hermione caught him, and his hands moved to her waist. There was such love in his mates’ eyes that Harry had to turn away. Ginny was dancing over with Luna, the two of them spinning around and moving closer and closer in time with the music. He tried to grin at them, but they didn’t notice him so he turned to Seamus and Justin Finch-Fletchley, who took Harry’s hand and pulled him closer. He wondered where Dean was: Seamus and Dean were often inseparable since reuniting after the war.

There was something in Justin’s grin that made Harry think twice as they danced. He’d never thought of Justin as attractive before, but there was something in his bright eyes and smile that made Harry pause. He raked a hand through his sweaty hair and stumbled away, chewing desperately on his bottom lip. He liked boys. He wanted to kiss boys. He wouldn’t mind if Justin kissed him right now.  wave of guilt flooded through him as he looked over to where Ginny was laughing with Luna and Neville. He did like Ginny, he really did, but he didn’t have a future with her. The realisation hit him like a tidal wave, and he muttered an excuse to Seamus about needing air and shoved his way through the club to the smoking area.

Harry relished the air as it raced into his lungs, even as it tainted his mouth with the acrid taste of smoke. He kept his head down and stumbled until he found a spare bit of wall to lean on and promptly dropped his head between his knees as he tried to focus on his breathing. He was not going to have an anxiety attack here, he was completely fine except he wasn’t and his head was spinning and his palms were sweaty and his lungs hurt to breathe.

“Do you need a fag?”

“Not a fag,” Harry muttered. He was too busy trying to breathe at a calm rate to really pay attention to what was being said.

A warm laugh reached his ears. “Never said you were, but would you like one?”

Harry frowned. Why was this person offering him a gay man? Had he accidentally written _Harry is bisexual_ across his forehead as he made his realisation?

“Here.” Harry managed to lift his head, and there was a glowing cigarette being held out to him, the acrid taste filling his nose.

“Don’t smoke,” he mumbled, and the person laughed again.

“Then you definitely need one.”

Harry took the cigarette and held it to his lips, inhaling deeply and coughing as the smoke hit the back of his throat. He wrinkled his nose as he spluttered, and a hand rubbed his back.

“There, there it gets better.” Harry took another drag, and this time it didn’t burn quite so much. His eyes fluttered shut as he exhaled, and the smoke drifted up into the sky. “You’re breathing better now. I told you, you needed a fag.” Harry finally glanced up into the face of the person who very much had helped him avoid a panic attack by offering him a cigarette. He made a note not to tell Hermione, as she’d just lecture him about his lungs.

A girl with long blonde hair and kind brown eyes stood in front of him, Harry was relieved to find he was still attracted to her.

“Thank you,” he said, pushing his hair off his forehead. It kept sticking to him due to the sweat. He felt her eyes flicker to his scar, but being a muggle she didn’t say anything other than “cool scar” before plopping down beside him and lighting up her own cigarette. He examined the cigarette in his fingers and smirked. He knew muggles called them death sticks and the comparison to the elder wand amused him.

She shrugged. “No worries, so what’s got you all stressed?” Harry frowned, and she grinned, red lipstick smeared around her mouth. “I’m a psych student, you can trust me.” He didn’t know why that meant he could trust her, per se, but he didn’t have anything to lose.

“Just realised I like boys as well as girls,” he sighed, fully aware that the alcohol had loosened his tongue and that he would never have confessed this sober. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to tell anyone tomorrow.

The girl just laughed, and Harry shot her a look. She clearly wasn’t grasping the fact that he’d just had to revaluate his entire life. “Sounds like you’ve got the best of both worlds if you ask me. I’d hardly view it as a bad thing.”

“I don’t think it’s a bad thing,” though he could hardly imagine Mrs Weasley would be pleased if he ever bought a boy home when he was supposed to be getting married to Ginny and having kids. “Think I need to break up with my girlfriend, though.”

“Why?”

“Because she might not want to be with me because of it.”

The girl rolled her eyes. “Don’t put your issues onto her. If you want to explore what you’re feeling, then that’s on you.”

Harry scowled. He’d decided he didn’t like psych students. “Don’t tell me what I’m feeling.” He knew Ginny wouldn’t care if he liked boys as long as he wanted her, but he wasn’t sure anymore that they wanted each other, not in the way Ron and Hermione wanted each other. “Think the relationship’s dying anyway.”

“That’s a separate issue,” the girl said. “Why are you still together then?”

In a way, it was easy telling this nameless stranger about his issues. He didn’t care if she judged him. A weight lifted with every word he released into the night sky. “Everyone expects us to be together, and we do work, it’s just not right.” He watched the cigarette burn in front of him; he had no interest in it now that his breathing had calmed. “I don’t want to lose her as a friend.”

“Then end it. Don’t force something that’s not right. Wish someone had told me that about my first boyfriend. Bent over backwards to try keep it alive, and we just ended up hurting each other. If you want a chance at friendship then respect her enough to end it.” The girl’s words were slightly slurred, but her eyes were bright, and Harry trusted her. “Don’t make your life harder than it needs to be.”

The corner of his mouth quirked, and he let out a rough laugh. “I’ve never knowingly made my life easier.” She laughed in response, and they fell into a comfortable silence.

“Harry!” He glanced up at the sound of Hermione’s concerned call, and his friend shoved people out of her way, Ron stumbling along behind her. “Are you ready to go?” She shot a pointed look at Ron, who kissed the side of her head sloppily. Harry had never understood how for all his height, Ron was such a lightweight. Hannah Abbott, Neville, and Justin appeared as well. Justin’s smile was just as inviting as it had been before.

Harry nodded and stubbed the cigarette out on the sidewalk. “Was nice meeting you,” he said to the blonde girl, who saluted him and laughed.

“Nice meeting you too.” He turned to leave. “Oh, and Harry, remember what I said.”

He shot her a thankful smile. “I will,” he promised as he wrapped an arm around Ron’s waist and took most of the weight off of Hermione, who stared at the girl with narrowed eyes.

“What did she say?” Hermione hissed as they walked back through the smoking area towards the club exit.

“Just something I needed to hear,” he admitted. Hermione gave him a curious look but then was distracted by Ron’s mutterings as they started to walk back to 12 Grimmauld Place. Harry wished he’d gotten the girl’s name in the end, but it was with a lighter heart that he prepared for the shit storm that he was going to unleash tomorrow.

* * *

 

“I don’t want to alarm anyone, but I think I may have died again,” Harry groaned as he rolled over and connected with a hard body. That got his attention instantly. Ginny’s body had never been all firm lines and solid muscle. Harry prayed to Merlin and whatever gods may possibly exist that he hadn’t actually gone and hooked up with a guy after his chat with nameless girl.

He wracked his brains back through the events that had happened after they left the club. Justin had insisted they stop at McDonalds, and introducing Ron to the fast food chain really had been a great idea. That was until Ron proclaimed the burgers were better than Hogwarts’s Halloween feast, and they’d left before he accidentally broke any Ministry rules. They’d come back to Grimmauld Place, and Hermione and Ron had stumbled up to bed instantly while Harry, Justin, Neville, and Hannah had stayed downstairs for another hour or so until it became clear the others wouldn’t be back for a while. However, that didn’t explain why he was lying next to Justin. Despite the pounding in his head, he continued to wrack his brains.

“Please tell me death is kinder than this,” Ron’s voice interrupted his thoughts, and Harry felt the air return to his lungs. There was no way even he was stupid enough to hook up with Justin with Ron in the room.

Harry slowly opened his eyes and winced at the light that was filtering through the curtains. He was on one of the blow-up beds on the floor of the spare room. “The first time I died was definitely easier,” he said, letting out a croaky laugh and pushing himself up. Ron laughed weakly and rolled back over, burying his head in Hermione’s bushy hair, which was spread out across the pillow.

Harry didn’t want today to happen. He knew everyone was going to hate him. How on earth was he meant to stay at the Burrow after breaking up with Ginny? Ron was going to hate him, he would ruin Hermione’s fantasy of the four of them together, he would crush Mrs Weasley, and disappoint Mr Weasley. He groaned and buried his head into his pillow; he hated everything, and he hated himself.

“Please tell me we have hangover potions?” Justin begged, rolling over to face Harry, his curly blond hair stuck up everywhere. It was quite endearing in a way, but the plummy voice reminded Harry of Draco. As much as Harry knew he should skip his lesson with Draco today and deal with the consequences of ending things with Ginny, he was quite looking forward to having somewhere to hide.

“Downstairs, I stocked up.” Hermione’s voice was muffled by the pillow but, Ron understood the sentiment and declared her to be the best person to ever exist. Even though the statement was fuelled by his need for a hangover potion, it was still sweet, and earnt him a kiss on the nose from Hermione.

Harry was going to do it, he was actually going to do it. He kept repeating this to himself as they all eventually pulled themselves out of bed and trudged downstairs to find Seamus and Dean curled up together on the couch. Harry had never considered there being more between the two of them, but he had never been known for his observation skills either. His obliviousness had become a running joke amongst the group, which was fair enough, as it had taken him quite a few years to realise he fancied boys. He decided not to tell Ron that he’d most likely fancied Bill long before he’d fancied Ginny, because he thought there was only so much his best mate could take.

Grabbing the bacon, eggs, and sausages from the pantry Harry began preparing a large fry up for everyone so they wouldn’t hate him quite so much, while Hermione prepared tea and coffee as well as large doses of hangover potion. Ron was sent upstairs to brush his teeth after the hangover potion made him sick, which Harry would have found funnier if it weren’t for the fact he was trying to keep Ron in a good mood. He didn’t much fancy beating Voldemort, only to be taken down by Ron for hurting his little sister.

The morning dragged by as Harry tried to find the time to do what he had to do. He knew that if he left it another day, he’d talk himself out of it. He couldn’t talk himself out of it. He wanted to rediscover himself in this post-war world because for the first time in his life he wasn’t following a script that had been written from his birth.

It was afternoon by the time Ginny appeared wearing a Ravenclaw sweatshirt and joggers, red hair thrown back in a messy bun. He gave her time to eat and have a hangover potion before he asked her to step outside with him and chat. She smiled awkwardly at his request, and he knew it was because he sounded stupid, it was all stupid. He wished he loved her like he was meant to. Everything would have been easier.

The Grimmauld Place garden was a mess of tumbling weeds and overgrown shrubs, while the ghosts of what may have once been beautiful plants lay forgotten or dead. Neville kept talking about fixing the place up if Harry would let him, but since Harry had as little interaction with the place as possible, he’d never gotten around to it. He knew he ought to sell it, but he couldn’t let go of that final piece of Sirius yet. Sirius hadn’t even been happy here. It had been being trapped here that had killed him in the end, and yet Harry couldn’t let it go. He couldn’t move on from it.

“Gin,” he started, glancing up into the sun and enjoying the feeling of the rays soaking his skin.

She sighed, “I know what you’re going to say Harry.”

“You don’t.” He was the worst person alive.

“I do because one, I’m not an idiot and two, I feel the same way.” She pursed her lips and drew her arms tighter around herself.

Harry blinked stupidly. He had not been expecting this, he’d had it all planned out: they would come out here and he’d tell her that he couldn’t be the boyfriend she wanted and that he needed time to explore and get to know himself. He had not been ready for Ginny to suggest she too wanted them to break up.

“We’re not working, Harry, and I know you know it too.” The floor of Harry’s world gave way as he stared at the only girl he’d ever truly cared for. Cho had been a crush, but Ginny he could have loved, he did love, but not in the way she deserved. “I’ve been trying so hard but…” She stumbled over her words and wiped her nose on the sleeve of the jumper. “I can’t just be Harry Potter’s girlfriend. That’s not what I want from life. I want to be Ginny Weasley.”

“I would never expect you to be happy with just that,” Harry said softly, reaching out and taking Ginny’s hand, his heart pounding as she gifted him with a weak smile. Her eyes were bright and shiny and he had a feeling his were too. “We tried Gin, but I think…” His throat constricted, and he sniffed. “I need to learn who I am apart from Saviour of the Wizarding World. Almost every year since I was eleven I’ve been forced to be that, and now I’m not.” Her grip tightened on his hands. “I need to learn how to just be me,” he whispered, leaning down and pressing their foreheads together. He felt a tear sear a burning track down his face, and he sniffed. “You have made me so happy and-”

“Harry,” Ginny begged.

“Please just let me say this,” Harry said, and Ginny nodded, tears now racing down her own face. “You have made me so happy, and you’re so amazing and strong, and you’ve helped me pick up so many of the pieces that the war left.” She was shaking in his arms, or maybe he was shaking. “But I have to be the one to put them back together, and it’s not fair for me to ask you to help me when you’ve got your own pieces to fix.”

A sob escaped Ginny’s mouth, and Harry wished he could go back and change it all; he wished he could love her how he was supposed to and make everyone happy.

“I love you Harry, and I have for a long, long time, and I know you love me. However, I’m not _in_ love with you, and you’re not in love with me. I was happy with you, but I think we’ll learn to be happier apart.” Ginny’s words shattered that last part of his heart that had been hoping it was all a mistake, the part that had hoped she’d talk him out of his decision and beg him to stay. He should have known better. Ginny had never begged him to stay; she understood him.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered, and she laughed softly. “Promise me you’ll be happy?”

“Promise.” She leaned up and kissed the corner of his mouth before stepping away, rubbing at her eyes. He bit down on his lip hard.  Blood was roaring through him, and he felt like he’d just ripped off his security blanket. He would have to learn to sleep alone, but he knew that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. “I knew this was coming, you know.”

He glanced up and frowned. “How? I only realised last night.”

She rolled her eyes. “Since Malfoy came back into the picture, and maybe before that.”

“What?” Harry demanded, “Mal- Draco has nothing to do with this!”

Ginny hummed and played with a loose strand of hair. “Okay.” He could tell she didn’t believe him, but he didn’t know what else to say. Sure, maybe Draco had been key to him realising he was attracted to guys, but he hadn’t made him realise that his and Ginny’s relationship was going nowhere. “I think I fancy Luna, if we’re being honest,” she said, meeting his eyes evenly.

He quirked a smile. “I think I fancy boys as well as girls.” The laugh she let out was loud and genuine, and his heart lifted. He felt like he’d been clobbered over the head at the fact that he hadn’t picked up on Ginny and Luna, but he was happy for them in a weird way: he didn’t feel jealous at all. Letting go of his and Ginny’s relationship was letting go of a weight he didn’t know he’d been carrying. He hadn’t realised it was straining him until it was gone. “Go for it, Gin,” he added, running his hands through his hair. He wanted her to be happy.

“You too, Harry,” she smiled as she turned back towards the house. “Now who’s going to tell Ron?” Harry blanched, and she gave him a light-hearted shove, “Coward.” He wanted to deny it, but he couldn’t. He knew Ron would take it better from Ginny if she told him it was mutual than if Harry did.

“So, you don’t mind if I run and hide?” He was late to Draco’s anyway, and right now Draco’s snark would be the perfect distraction.

Ginny fixed him with a long-suffering look before sighing and waving her hand. “Go to him. I’ll deal with Ron and my mother.” It was the thought of Mrs Weasley’s face that had Harry apparating to the Manor before Ginny had turned her back. There was no way he was going to be able to face that, Gryffindor bravery be damned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do leave kudos or comments to let me know if you enjoyed it and I really hope you did!


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to give a shoutout to all those who have commented because it honestly makes me so happy. Like reading your comments and knowing you're enjoying the fic means the world to me and just eeee thank you so much!! Also those who leave kudos!! And you know what anyone who reads and enjoys this fic <3  
> I hope you enjoy the chapter!!

It didn’t occur to Harry until he was striding down the path to the Manor that he probably had only made things worse by running away. If he and Ginny had calmly explained to Ron that they both wanted a chance to explore the freedom of single life, he might have taken it better than Ginny telling him alone, tearstained, and Harry nowhere in sight.

However, Harry certainly wasn’t about to turn around now, so he trudged up the last bit of the path and knocked on the door, hands shoved in his pockets.

When he knocked, the door flung open almost instantly, revealing a grinning Draco. “Now Harry, I was thinking today we could…” he trailed off and wrinkled his nose. “Are you aware that you look worse than usual?”

Harry didn’t have the energy to protest or start one of their usual snarky exchanges. He hadn’t really thought about how he’d look in his ratty old hoodie and jeans with gaping holes. He just shrugged and waited for Draco to step aside and let him in, but Draco did the opposite, instead stepping closer to Harry, grey eyes narrowed and bottom lip caught between his teeth. Harry’s breath caught at the close proximity. After last night’s revelation, he couldn’t help but take in Draco’s handsome features. He was strikingly good-looking, and Harry wasn’t surprised that nearly all the witches in the wizarding world had bent over backwards to convince themselves he was merely a misunderstood bad boy.

“You’ve been crying?” It was more a question than a statement, but Harry flushed anyway. He really hadn’t thought any of this through. He didn’t want Draco Malfoy seeing him cry. Harry’s younger self was screaming at him to run before Malfoy could use Harry’s vulnerability, but he didn’t move.

Rubbing the back of his neck, he managed a weak smile. “Yeah, I just broke up with Ginny.” It was clear from the way Draco’s eyebrows shot up that he hadn’t been expecting that.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he nodded. “Are you okay?” The words sounded stilted from Draco’s mouth, as if he didn’t know if he had the right to ask them.

“I think so. It was the right thing to do,” Harry said, “still sucks though, so I’d really like to be distracted.”

“I’m sure I can find a way to distract you,” Draco grinned, before ducking his head and wrinkling his nose when he realised what he’d just said. “I mean-” he flipped him off as Harry burst out laughing.

“I’m sure you can,” Harry smirked.

“Fuck off, Potter, and get your arse inside before I change my mind,” Draco sighed, tilting his chin and glancing up through his lashes at Harry, even though Draco was actually taller. Harry grinned at the contradicting picture Draco made but stepped inside before Draco could change his mind. He and Draco Malfoy were not flirting. There was no way. Except when he caught Draco’s smile, he wasn’t so sure anymore.

Draco didn’t take Harry to the library as he usually did for their muggle lessons but instead grabbed a bottle of firewhiskey and a couple of glasses from the kitchen and led Harry out to the lake. Harry didn’t even blanch at the thought of more drinking and sent up a silent prayer of thanks to his parents for being wizards. The thought of life without hangover potion wasn’t appealing.

They stayed there for a while relaxing in the sun as Harry quizzed Draco on muggle customs. This eventually turned into a lazy drinking game where Draco had to take a drink every time he got a question wrong, and Harry took a drink every time Draco got one right. Despite his pureblood Draco was as quick as whip, and the two of them had never just been able to have a casual competition, so Harry ended up drinking far more than he’d anticipated. Not that he minded; he welcomed the lazy buzz that coursed through his veins and stretched out in the sun He stripped off his ratty hoodie to reveal a thin and worn t-shirt that had Draco raising his eyebrows. Even with all the money his parents had left him and the free things people wanted to give him now, Harry couldn’t throw out his old clothes. He’d spent too many years at the Dursleys owning nothing of his own.

“Never been through a breakup myself, but Pansy says alcohol helps.” Draco shrugged as he picked up the bottle, and eyed it suspiciously. “I think she just likes an excuse to drink.” Drunk Draco’s accent was softer and less plummy. He spoke more slowly, his words fading into one another.

“Don’t blame her,” Harry said, grabbing the bottle from Draco and taking a sip.

“Use your glass,” Draco sighed, thrusting it at Harry, who ignored him and took another sip from the bottle.

“It’s my mantra that there is no shame in drinking from the bottle,” he grinned, as Draco muttered something about plebs with no sense of etiquette.

Harry gazed out at the lake trying to spot some of the brightly coloured fish he had seen the first time he was here. “Thought you were with Pansy?” he asked. He could have sworn Hermione said that Pansy and Draco had been a thing before Hermione had hinted he might be gay. Harry rolled over and glanced up at Draco, who was lounging in a long-sleeved shirt despite the heat. Harry wanted to say that  he didn’t care about the Mark, but he’d be lying. The thing gave him the creeps. Draco rubbed his temples and sighed. “We were never together, it was just an exploration.” His words were vague and so characteristically useless that Harry rolled his eyes.

“An exploration?”

“Yes, you know how hormones can fly at Hogwarts.” Harry snorted at Draco’s pretentious manner even while the whiskey flowed through him. “Pans and I were never serious enough to suffer a breakup.” Harry stared at Draco, but there was nothing that suggested he was lying, so Harry believed him. He wondered if he’d ever be able to read Draco properly. The thought worried him. He truly believed that Draco wanted to change and that he was on his way to doing so, but then he’d see a flash of Lucius in his haughty expression and that doubt would niggle at Harry’s brain.

“Right, so today’s muggle lesson is going to be on their clubs.”

Draco laughed but sat back and let Harry tell him about his adventures at the muggle club the previous night.  At one point in the story Draco even took a sip straight from the bottle, much to Harry’s amusement.

“Maybe I’ll speak to Kingsley about taking you to muggle places. There’s only so much you can learn stuck up here,” Harry said later on as he tucked into the pizza Draco had cooked, although “cooking” meant he’d taken it out of the packet and put it into the oven. Harry wasn’t surprised to see that the pizza had Waitrose branded across it; of course, the Malfoys’ food came from Waitrose.

Draco sniffed, “Good one.”

“Mean it, I’ll ask him tomorrow,” Harry said firmly through a mouthful of food.

“He’ll never go for it,” Draco sighed, tucking his legs up under him and dropping his chin onto his knees. It caused his hair to flop over his eyes, and without thinking Harry reached out and pushed it aside. Draco froze, but Harry just smiled at him.

“You’d be surprised what being friends with the Chosen One can get you,” Harry said, pulling a face at one of his least favourite nicknames, but it was worth using it to get a laugh from Draco.

In fact, Harry wasn’t sure Kingsley would go for it, and he knew Robards would be furious, but it was true: how much could Draco learn from Harry sitting here and talking to him? While the Malfoys were living without magic, they still weren’t living like muggles. If Harry took Draco out into the muggle world and showed him that it wasn’t bad, that would be the best way of teaching him acceptance, and Harry wasn’t afraid to throw him name around. Although his chances of becoming an auror were going up in smoke the more he pushed Robards’s buttons, Harry was beginning to realise that he really didn’t care.

* * *

 

Due to their early start and a heart dose of sobering potions Draco and Harry had recovered from their pre-and-post lunch drinking just in time for Harry to return to the Burrow for dinner. He debated whether it would have been a hell of a lot easier to remain drunk. He’d heard nothing from anyone all day, which was expected since he as he was at the Manor, but the silence still set him on edge. He hated not knowing what to expect.

He’d enjoyed the day a lot more than he’d anticipated, and Draco had all but pushed Ginny totally from his mind. Brown eyes turned to silver, red hair to white, and warm features sharpened. He wanted to hate the warmth that pooled in his stomach when Draco stretched out on the grass and a sliver of skin was revealed, but instead he wanted to kiss what Draco’s shirt had hidden.

Harry knew that Hermione, Ron, or some others would say that he was jumping into this fancying boys this too fast, but Harry didn’t see it like that. It was more like he finally understood a desire that had always burned inside him. Harry had always had a jump in head-first approach to life.

Dying puts the importance of being with whomever you want in perspective, Harry thought with a wry smile, as Draco leaned against the door, both of them prolonging the conversation. He didn’t want to leave, but he couldn’t think of an excuse to stay.

“Hello, Mr Potter.”

He jumped at the sound of Narcissa Malfoy’s icy voice and wrung his hands, trying to ignore Draco’s smirk. Harry reckoned he looked like a rabbit in headlights as he faced the Malfoy matriarch again. He couldn’t help it. She terrified him, and he couldn’t imagine being comfortable with her anytime soon.

He tried to straighten his shoulders and offer a smile that wasn’t more like a grimace. “Hello, Mrs Malfoy.”

One again Narcissa looked elegant in a simple gown, and with her long white hair falling down her back, she was so removed from Molly’s warmth that Harry wanted to run, not caring about the shitstorm that was waiting for him at the Burrow. Even Molly’s anger would be better than Narcissa’s cold indifference.

“How have you been?”

“I- I’ve been good, yeah… How are you?”

“Well, thank you. Have you invited Mr Potter to dinner, Draco?”

Harry shot a panicked glance at Draco, who was still lounging against the door watching the interaction with an amused look on his face. There was none of the straight-backed fear that had laced his features when dealing with Lucius.

“Harry was just leaving,” Draco drawled.

Narcissa smiled, “Mr Potter, I must insist that you join us for dinner. It’s the least we can do to thank you.” Harry didn’t want to point out that: one, Narcissa had manipulated him into helping, and two, he’d be a lot more grateful if they showed him their thanks by letting him leave, but when he shot Draco a pleading look, the git was too busy smirking to do anything to help.

Harry dragged a hand through his hair. “I really should be going, I’m expected at the Burrow.” Between the two options of facing the Weasleys’ wrath and having dinner with the Malfoys, Harry would rather face Voldemort again.

“Nonsense, Mr Potter,” Narcissa sniffed. “Draco, lend Mr Potter some more suitable clothes for dinner, which will be served in half an hour.” And with that she glided away, not giving either of them a chance to protest.

Harry was pretty sure his mouth was on the floor as Draco snickered and pushed him in the direction of his room to get i dressed. Harry tried to protest, but Draco ignored him, stating that there was simply no point in trying to fight her. He’d been losing that battle himself for eighteen years.

Halfway through the walk to Draco’s room, Harry regained the ability to speak and started asking what they were even going to be eating and how they were going to have a formal dinner among the three of them. Draco corrected Harry to “four” softly, before launching into his mother’s newfound passion for cooking from the books Harry had sent. t took Harry a while to realise that the fourth person who was going to be attending dinner was Lucius Malfoy himself, at which point Draco had to physically tackle Harry onto his bed to stop Harry from legging it out the door and never returning.

Harry stared up at Draco and tried to control himself. He wasn’t sure if Draco was aware he’d pinned Harry to the bed. “It’s just my father, and I’m sure mother will have him on his best behaviour.” Draco’s voice wavered, and Harry sighed.

“ _Just_ your father?” he repeated, pursing his lips and raising his eyebrows. There was nothing ‘just’ about Lucius Malfoy. His son may have had his fangs removed by the war, but he doubted Lucius had. He was sure the only thing Lucius regretted from his involvement with Voldemort was the fact the Malfoys weren’t going to be able to emerge smelling of roses.

Lucius didn’t fill Harry with the same feeling of panic that his wife did. All Harry felt was rage, rage at what Lucius had stood for and what he had brought his son up to believe, rage for that night in the Ministry and for what he did to Ginny years ago. Lucius may not have known that diary was a horcrux when he gave it to her, but he knew it was dangerous. He’d wanted to harm her.

Draco pulled a face. His blond hair fell around his face like a halo. “Okay, yes, he’s an arse, but he won’t do anything, mother won’t let him.” Harry wasn’t sure how much control Narcissa Malfoy had over her husband, and he didn’t fancy finding out while he was sat around the table without magic. There was a time and a place for a confrontation with Lucius Malfoy, and it was when Harry had a working wand Draco clearly sensed Harry’s suspicion. “Honestly, she’s too afraid of you walking away from me to let him cause any trouble.” Harry then remembered that Narcissa had defied Voldemort for Draco, so Lucius probably wasn’t too much of a problem for her.

“What do these dinners involve?” Harry sighed. He hadn’t agreed to the invitation but the way Draco’s face lit up made it all the more tempting —  that and the fact that the other boy was still resting on top of Harry. He tried to think of anything except how good Draco looked as he hovered above him.

Draco killed the mood by proceeding to tell Harry exactly what these dinners involve. “Well, we’ll all make stilted conversation about our days, which is never particularly interesting seeing as how we can’t leave the Manor. Then Father will start asking if I’ve made any progress in finding a wife, as I need to produce an heir. I’ll point out that it’s been rather difficult to find a wife since I can’t leave the Manor, and I may die in a month or so.” He checked things off on his fingers as he continued, “Father will call me a disappointment and question my relationship with Pansy, as she’s not suitable. I’ll defend Pansy, and Father will ignore me; Mother will try to defend Pansy, and Father will ignore her and start to bemoan the fall of the noble house of Malfoy.” The twist of Draco’s mouth contradicted his pleasant tone of voice. “Then he’ll leave and go drink in his office, and the meal will become a lot more pleasant.” He sat up, and Harry tried not to notice that Draco was still straddling him, despite the fact Harry hadn’t tried to run away since landing on the bed. “However, with you there it may be different!” Draco added quickly. There was a pleading look in his eyes that made Harry cave.

“Fine, but you owe me,” he said firmly, trying not to smile as Draco jumped up and threw open the doors to his wardrobe that was bigger than Harry’s first proper room at the Dursleys. Pompous and vain prick.

Draco started holding up smart robes, and Harry again regretted his decision to agree to this. The Malfoys were a manipulative, lot but it was fucking Draco’s smile that got to him. Draco didn’t even need to say anything. Harry had no doubt Draco must have been a terror as a child with that smile of his; it was a shame he took to sneering people into obedience at school.

“I’m not wearing that,” Harry groaned as Draco passed him a green robe, and smart trousers. They felt like they cost more than anything Harry owned. Draco rolled his eyes and muttered something about it looking good with Harry’s skin, and he didn’t miss the way Draco’s eyes shot to his arse after he’d squeezed into Draco’s trousers. He tried not to grin but failed; Draco may not have been confirmed as being gay, but Harry was starting to believe there was no way he was straight.

Harry dragged his feet the whole way down to the dining hall wishing that he was anywhere else on earth — except the Burrow. He was pretty sure he that his life was fucked up when was hiding from Ron with Draco.

The dining hall was one of the few rooms that didn’t show signs of neglect. The old table gleamed, and Harry tried and failed not to remember that the muggle studies teacher had been killed in here. He felt like he was going to be sick. He shot a desperate glance at Draco, whose face was that blank mask again. Harry wondered if the whole house was haunted with memories of Voldemort and how Draco managed to move past them.

Lucius and Narcissa swept into the room, and Harry started to take his seat until Draco gave him a long and pointed look. Harry sighed and dragged a hand through his hair, noticing the disapproving look Narcissa cast him. This was going to be the longest meal of his life.

* * *

 Harry had not been wrong. He waited patiently until both Narcissa and Lucius had excused themselves before dropping his head onto the table and letting out a loud and self-pitying groan.

While it was not one of the worst experiences of his life, since that list was populated by the deaths of those close to him, or any experience that involved Voldemort, dinner with the Malfoys was not something he was keen to ever repeat in this lifetime or the hereafter.

The dinner was the complete opposite of the casual and bouncy meals that fuelled the Burrow, where everyone spoke over each other, switched seats, and grabbed food with their hands. There were no stuffy rules, no polite questions, no expectations, and no Lucius Malfoy making thinly veiled insults. At one point Draco had had to squeeze Harry’s thigh to stop him launching himself across the table while Lucius sighed about the disarray the Ministry had fallen into since the war. Draco’s sharp squeeze had not stopped Harry from responding that at least the Ministry was working to eradicate scum who thought they could bribe their way through life. Thankfully Narcissa had cut in before Lucius could respond, asking Draco what he thought of her attempt at coq au vin.

The conversation had remained painfully polite after that and was dominated by Draco’s and his mother’s small talk. Harry wasn’t surprised that Draco had turned out to be such a dick if this was the stilted atmosphere he’d been brought up in. Draco’s face hadn’t lit up in that natural smile of his once.

“That was the best dinner we’ve had in ages,” Draco announced after his parents had left the room. The smile on his face didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it was warmer than he’d seen it all meal.

Harry scowled. “I’m glad you enjoyed my pain.” He fiddled with the edge of Draco’s robes.

Reclining in his chair, Draco pushed a strand of hair behind his ear. The mask he wore with his parents hadn’t quite worn off, and Harry found it unnerving. “I did intensely,” Draco smirked. Harry hated that bloody smirk, mostly because he found it extremely attractive, and he didn’t want anything to do with arrogant Draco. To his annoyance, Harry knew that was a lie, as he was finding it harder and harder to stay away from Draco.

“I suppose you’ll be going now?” Harry was pulled from his thoughts to see Draco staring at him. “I mean, you’re welcome to stay the night if you want to but…” There was a strange vulnerability to Draco’s face, and Harry found himself wishing he could stay, wished he could take him up on his offer.

“I need to go back to the Burrow and deal with Ron,” he said, not liking the curl of Draco’s mouth when he didn’t get his way. “Maybe another time?”

Draco nodded, now examining his nails, “Maybe.”

Harry clenched his jaw and sighed. He’d let himself forget Draco’s spoilt tendencies and why they’d hated each other for seven years.

Harry drummed his fingers on the table as Draco began stacking up plates. Harry didn’t know what to say when Draco got in one of his moods. Harry was used to Pansy or Zabini snapping Draco out of it, or at the least having others to talk to until Draco dragged himself out of it.

“So, are you off?”

Harry scowled and pushed himself to his feet. “Yeah, suppose so.” Draco wasn’t looking at him, and Harry was filled with an all too familiar urge to punch Draco in the face. Harry couldn’t help but welcome it back.

“Presume you know the way out.”

“Yeah, I do, thanks for today.”

Draco made a non-committal noise, and Harry glared at him, flipping his middle finger when Draco’s back was turned. What an utter git. Harry stormed out of the room, flinging the door shut behind him and relishing in the resounding bang it made as he marched up to Draco’s room and changed back into his own clothes. Harry would return tomorrow and they’d be back to normal. Draco was insufferable, and Harry was going to save his sodding, life but there was never going to be anything more. Draco was too fucking annoying for that.

* * *

 

Harry knew he shouldn’t have apparated to the Burrow immediately after Draco’s snub. Harry should have calmed down and gone for a walk or a run, or found someone to duel with him. Anything to take the edge off the feelings buzzing through him, amplified by his magic returning after being muted all day. But he didn’t. It was raining in Ottery St Catchpole, and he knew a storm was about to break. It felt fitting for the upcoming confrontation.

Harry couldn’t decide whether he was more irritated by the fact that Draco got under his skin so magnificently, or that Draco was such a dick. Harry was beginning to conclude it was one and the same. What he hated even more was how attractive he still found the dickhead. Even when that sneer twisted Draco’s cruel mouth, Harry had just wanted to kiss it off. He hated that he was thinking about kissing Draco sodding Malfoy. Harry hated it all.

He didn’t want to fight Ron, but as that familiar red head came storming out of the Burrow, Harry felt a bolt of electricity run through him, calling to the rumbling wind. He had been spending too much time just sitting around the Manor. He needed to expend some energy.

“You said you wouldn’t mess around with her!” Ron’s words hit Harry like a hex to the gut. There wasn’t going to be a warm-up round. Ron wasn’t pulling his punches.

Harry’s jaw tightened, and he clenched his fists. “I know, and that’s why I ended it.” He tried to keep his voice controlled as he stepped towards Ron, but Harry could feel his magic stirring and pulsing through him, threatening to spill over. His magic didn’t like being dampened from all the time he spent at the Manor.

Ron’s face was contorted with rage as he stopped just short of Harry. Ron’s hair was flattened by the rain, and the finger he pointed at Harry shook. “How is that any better?”

“What?” Harry demanded, his eyes narrowing as he stepped closer to his best friend. Ron may have had a few inches on him, but Harry was broader, and his magic was starting to leak. “What was I supposed to do then? Keep playing at a relationship that wasn’t working?”

He knew Ginny would have tried to explain to Ron that it was a mutual decision, but when Ron saw his sister’s tears, the rest would have been meaningless. Harry shouldn’t have run to Draco. He should have stayed and dealt with the situation head on.

“I trusted you to make her happy!” Ron threw his hands up in the air. “That’s the only reason I allowed you to be with her!”

Harry’s voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, and he let out a joyless laugh. “I think it was up to Gin, not you, whether or not we were together.”

“You’re my best friend, and you were meant to make her happy,” Ron cried. They were drawing attention from the rest of the Burrow residents and visitors now, and Hermione came flying out of the door, yelling at them. Ginny wasn’t far behind her.

“I wasn’t making her happy!” Ginny gave Harry a watery smile, and he felt the fight start to ebb out of him, to wash away with the rain. She’d always helped him keep his emotions in check. He knew Ron was angry, but surely, he wouldn’t want Harry and Ginny to be miserable for the long term.

Ron’s sneer was Malfoy-worthy, and Harry resisted the urge to deck him, to take out his anger at both Ron and Draco right here. “She wasn’t crying before you fucking ended it with her.” All of Harry’s anger came rising to the surface as a roar of thunder sounded.

“It was mutual! I wish I hadn’t hurt her. I would do anything to take it back.” He needed Ron to know that Ginny was nearly as important to him as they were, that she would always matter to him, and that was why he’d ended it. He’d been a coward long enough, and she deserved better than that.

Throwing his arms up in the air Ron yelled, “Then take her back!”

Harry shouted, “She doesn’t fucking want me back, you arsehole!” At the same time Ginny started yelling at Ron about ignoring her feelings and how she had told him that she and Harry ending was a good thing for the long term.

Ron ignored Ginny and continued glowering at Harry. “Oh, _I’m_ an arsehole!”

Hermione tugged on Ron’s arm, begging and pleading with them both to stop yelling, to calm down and just fucking listen to her. Harry knew she was desperate because Hermione never swore, not unless she really meant it, but he couldn’t keep the anger from rolling off him as Ron sized him up.

“Yes, yes, you fucking are,” Harry spat. He and Ron were only inches from each other now, both panting with rage, rain streaking down their faces.

Shaking her head, Hermione let out a desperate cry of “Boys!” Lightning flashed.

Had Harry not given enough for all of their happiness? Would he ever give enough? He still never put his own happiness first, and he probably never fucking would. It would have been easier to stay with Ginny and let her soothe that ache inside of him, but she deserved better, so he had taken off the safety blanket.

Harry trembled with rage, and the blood roaring in his ears drowned out Hermione’s and Ginny’s shouts as they shoved Harry and Ron apart, the girls’ tears merging with the rain as it streamed down both their faces.

“What about me, Ron? Why is it never about me?” The words caught in the back of Harry’s throat. He had never asked anyone to put his happiness before their own. He had done everything for his friends, his surrogate family, the whole wizarding population. He had given up his chance at peace for them all, and yet he could never rest. He was forced to swallow his war trauma and smile for the Ministry, smile for his friends, tell them that he was doing okay, when at night the silence ate him alive.

“It’s always about you, Harry!” Harry knew that Ron felt that way, he knew that Ron struggled with Harry’s fame. But they weren’t talking about being the famous Harry Potter.

Harry’s voice cracked. “But not about what I want, what I need! It’s always about Harry fucking Potter, the Saviour, the Chosen One, but what about me, just Harry, your friend?” A bush burst into flames despite the rain as his magic exploded out of him. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Neville darting forward to put it out. It made him aware of the audience crowded at the Burrow door, watching and saying nothing.

Hermione was talking, and Ron had stopped yelling, but Harry didn’t care, he couldn’t stay here. He shoved away Hermione’s outreached hand and marched back the way he’d come. He could hear footsteps behind him, and he spun around, ready to yell. When he saw it was Ginny he let out a sigh. Her face was streaked with tears for the second time today because of him.

She threw her arms around him and sobbed into his shoulder. “Oh, Harry, I’m so sorry! I tried to tell him, but Ron just wouldn’t listen, and when Hermione said you must be with Malfoy, he got even angrier.” Harry wrapped his arms around her and closed his eyes, his ire starting to leak away as his magic subsided.

“S’okay Gin,” he mumbled, pressing his face into her hair. She smelt like her shampoo, and he breathed it in deeply, not wanting to let her go. Maybe Ron was right and they should have kept fighting for each other. Maybe he did throw it away too quickly.

Eventually she pulled back and tugged on his hand. “Come back to the Burrow.” Her voice was soft and inviting, and Harry was tempted. All he wanted was to curl up beside her, and yet he couldn’t. “Ron will calm down, and mum’s upset, but she won’t take it out on you.”

Harry shook his head and shoved his hands into his pockets. He couldn’t go back tonight. He just wouldn’t feel welcome. “It’s okay, I don’t want to impose.”

Ginny started to protest that he would never be imposing at the Burrow, and at this point it was as much his home as hers, but he didn’t believe her. They were her family, and they shouldn’t have to shutter their feelings around him.

“I’ve got a place to stay. I’ll come back soon,” he promised, squeezing her hand and walking away before she could protest. This time no feet came running after him, and he apparated with only the roaring wind for company.

* * *

 

Narcissa let him into the Manor without saying a word about his bedraggled appearance. She merely raised an eyebrow before informing him that Draco would most likely be in his room. Harry gave her a nod off thanks and tried to flatten his hair, earning what may have been a small smile as he scooted away from her gaze and up into Malfoy’s section of the Manor.

He paused outside Draco’s room and knocked. Maybe he shouldn’t have come. They hadn’t exactly parted on the best of terms, what with Draco’s hissy fit about Harry returning to the Burrow. But it was this or sleep alone at Grimmauld Place, which wasn’t a real option, so Harry opened the door when Draco called, “Come in.”

Draco was sprawled on his stomach reading in bed. He glanced up and frowned when Harry walked in. Draco’s blond hair was held off his face by an Alice band, and he was wearing an old Slytherin Quidditch jersey with the sleeves pushed up, leaving the Dark Mark on blatant display. The sight still made Harry cringe, but he wasn’t as repulsed as he had once been.

He hadn’t really taken in Draco’s room last time he was in it. Harry had  been too distracted by the thought of having to dine with  Lucius and Narcissa. It was a huge room with clean, yet badly painted white walls with visible brushstrokes. The room was pretty minimalistic apart from the stacks of books and the huge bed. It was a four-poster bed with deep green curtains and matching sheets. The posts had snakes and stars carved into them, and Harry had never seen anything so perfectly “Draco.”

Draco didn’t say anything, just lifted his eyebrow, a mirror of the expression Narcissa had given Harry. He wondered whose expression it was first, Draco’s or his mother’s.

“Does the offer still stand?” Harry was aware of what a mess he was, and the glint in his green eyes begged Draco not to ask questions. Harry didn’t care to rehash the evening’s events, and he was sure that Draco would hardly be sympathetic to any fight involving the Weasleys.

Closing his book, Draco rested his chin on his hands as he regarded Harry. “I’m sorry?”

“Can I stay here tonight?” It was a plea for Draco not to turn him away. Harry was starting to realise how cold he was with his wet clothes clinging to him and dripping onto the floor. He didn’t want to think about what he would do if Draco said no.

Grey eyes met green, and Draco nodded, his face still unreadable. “Of course.” Harry felt the air return to his lungs, and he gave Draco a grateful smile, “You can take Pansy’s room. It’s the one next to mine.” Harry wasn’t surprised to learn that Pansy had her own room.  It appeared that the Manor was the Slytherin version of the Burrow, though there was no need for people to sleep on the floor and sofas. “Greg and Millie - Millicent Bulstrode - are here as well, but they’ve gone to their rooms by now, so you don’t have to see them.” Harry wanted to ask how Draco felt about sleeping in a house alone, let alone one haunted by Voldemort’s footsteps, but he didn’t. He recognised the sharp tilt of Draco’s chin and knew not to push his luck. “Do you need any clothes?” Draco asked, climbing off his bed. He was just wearing boxers with his top, and Harry couldn’t help but let his eyes travel up the long, slim legs.

Harry grinned at the sight of Draco’s blush, not particularly bothered about being caught checking him out. Harry didn’t have the strength to care about anything. All he wanted was to curl up in bed and put this fucking day behind him.

He took the top and pyjama bottoms Draco offered with a nod and let himself be led into the room that Pansy used. The room itself resembled any other spare room except for the lipsticks and makeup scattered across the dressing table and the clothes hanging out of the chest draws. Harry’s eyes caught on a particularly lacy bra, and he glanced away, scowling at the way Draco smirked at him.

Climbing into the shower, Harry let the hot water burn away all the anger and resentment that had built up during his argument with Ron and long before that, if Harry was being honest. It was only when the water started to run cold that he climbed out and into the clothes that Draco had left folded on the loo seat. Harry rolled into the bed, and in terms of comfort, it was up there with his Hogwarts bed. He’d come a long way from his cupboard under the stairs. It took him awhile to fall asleep, as it always did in a new place, and it was even harder without Ginny’s soft body against his. However, eventually his body caved to his tiredness, and he fell into a fitful sleep.

Harry was walking through the forest again, the snitch cold as he pressed it to his lips and whispered those fateful words. He was ready to die. It would be a relief from the never-ending battle he’d been fighting since Voldemort marked him. He was ready for some peace. The snitch opened slowly and revealed the cracked resurrection stone. He knew what to do. He always knew what to do. The stone weighed almost nothing as he turned it; he didn’t mind this part of the dream. Seeing his parents smiling at him, holding out their hands ready to welcome him home. Sirius young, carefree, and handsome with a knowing grin on his face, and Remus the same. He wished he could stay with them forever. He wanted them back.

But, this time it wasn’t Harry’s parents who that greeted him but Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, who all stared at him indignantly. One by one they started laughing at him, mocking him for thinking he belonged. _He would never be one of them_ , Ron sneered. _He would never be enough for them,_ Hermione promised. _They would never love him_ , Ginny snickered. Around and around they went, whispering about how he should have stayed dead because then they wouldn’t be forced to put up with him, until they were interrupted by a cold, harsh laugh and a cry of “avada kedavra”.

“Harry! Harry!” A voice dragged him from the dream, and his hand connected with something solid as he flung his arms out in panic. “Fucking Merlin,” the voice hissed, and Harry sat up, chest heaving as he stared around.

“Malfoy?” he gasped, dragging his hands through his hair and trying to calm down.

Draco stood a couple of feet from the bed still wearing his boxers and Quidditch top, now rubbing his jaw, his face a strange mix of irritation and concern. “You were screaming,” he shrugged.

Harry closed his eyes and sighed, “Sorry, I don’t sleep well alone.” Draco gave him an odd look and Harry tried to offer him a weak smile. He had a feeling it was more like a grimace.

“Why?” Draco’s voice was soft and his brows furrowed.

Harry paused and let his breathing slow before answering. No one had ever asked him why he couldn’t sleep alone, and he hadn’t thought much about it. “The dreams- nightmares,” he corrected, “are often about going into the forest alone to die, and waking up alone makes it feel so much more real.” His voice caught, and he looked away from Draco’s face; it was unreadable. “And someone being next to me just makes me feel more grounded, as I got so used to it at Hogwarts and then camping with Hermione and Ron.”

“Fair enough,” Draco nodded, before turning on his heel and walking straight back out of the room. Harry stared after him. He hadn’t exactly expected a hug, but he’d presumed even Draco Malfoy could be more comforting than that.

Harry shoved his glasses onto his face and gazed around the room, tugging up the crumpled sheets. He stripped off the sweat-soaked pyjamas that Draco had lent him, but that left Harry feeling oddly exposed in only his boxers, even though the room was empty. His heart was beating too fast for him to go back to sleep immediately, and he was sure he was in for a long night.

“Drink this.” Draco returned, and there was a flush to his cheeks as he held out a vial to Harry.  Draco’s chin was tilted in that way that suggested he was about to do something someone could criticise.

Harry inspected it. “Dreamless Sleep?” He knew Molly hated the stuff, but there was no way he was going to turn down this blessing. Harry downed it and glanced over at Draco, who was chewing on his bottom lip, eyes darting about. Harry supposed that potions didn’t rely on magic, so they would work despite the dampeners.

“Thank you,” he said, and Draco nodded before swallowing heavily and climbing into the bed beside Harry. Harry blinked once and then again to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. There was no way Draco Malfoy had just climbed into Harry’s bed. He was going insane. This was some perverted epilogue to his dream.

“What?” Draco snapped, dragging Harry out of his confused thoughts. “You said you don’t like sleeping alone, and I’ll confess that neither do I. It’s why…” He stopped, but Harry had an inkling that Draco had been about to reveal Nott’s bedroom habits. Harry doubted that someone like Draco, with the emphasis purebloods placed on having heirs, was out and proud. “So, this works best for both of us,” he finished, his jaw clenched as he dared Harry to question him on it.

A sleepy smile grew on Harry’s face, and he nodded. “This works for me.” The smile Draco gave him in return was soft and warm as he buried under the covers until only pleased grey eyes and tufts of blond hair remained visible. Harry rolled over and curled up on the other side of the bed, grinning at Draco. They were both completely aware of how ridiculous it all seemed, but the war had been messy and hard on everyone. No one really mocked the way people coped.

“Don’t you dare steal all the sheets, Harry,” Draco mumbled through a yawn, causing Harry to laugh and kick him. It didn’t take long for Harry to fall asleep with a comforting weight beside him and the soft glow of white hair keeping away the dark.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun dunnn!! Things are finally starting to heat up for the boys and thank you for sticking with me throughout the slowest burn of slow burns <3  
> As always comments and kudos are amazing  
> And if you want to chat more do send me a message at: http://callingdrarry.tumblr.com


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update?! I hear you say and yes I answer. Basically for the next week or so I will be trying to update every day because in the next couple of weeks I am off galivanting around Europe for two weeks on my very own Grand Tour. However, I aim to have as much as the fic up as possible so you will not be left on too large of a cliff hanger... Don't hate me...  
> Anyway, now that's over please enjoy the next chapter of sexual tension and Harry Potter's antics

Harry awoke at one point during the night to find Draco pressed against him and their legs entwined. He couldn’t bring himself to push away the warm body and instead burrowed his head into Draco’s neck and let sleep claim him again. He could claim innocence in the morning, he’d always been clingy when he slept.

“I wish I could say I was surprised,” a low voice laughed.

“What do you mean you’re not surprised?” came the shrill return.

“Did you not see this coming?”

Harry was roused from sleep by voices that he couldn’t pinpoint this soon to waking up. He groaned and slowly opened his eyes as the events of yesterday came back to him. He never could have prepared himself for the sight of Pansy Parkinson and Zabini gazing down at him in disdain.

Harry pushed himself up, aware of the weight of an arm sprawled across his chest. He glanced over to see Malfoy curled up against him. Harry smiled slightly at the sight causing both Pansy and Zabini to groan loudly.

“I swear to Merlin, Potter, if you spunked in my bed I’ll never forgive you,” Pansy sniffed sticking her up-turned nose into the air. There was a smirk playing at her bright red lips and Zabini looked like Christmas had come early.

Harry frowned and reached over for his glasses, “Why would I have spunked in your bed?”

Draco was moving against him, slowly coming to and Harry had to work to keep his face blank and hide the shiver that ran through him as Draco’s nails stroked down Harry’s arm. His eyes fluttered as he curled up closer to Harry, clearly still in a sleepy stupor.

“Draco darling, wake the fuck up,” Pansy cooed, climbing onto the bed and hovering over Draco.

Draco let out a small groan and raised a hand to try bat Pansy away.

“He’s not a morning person,” Zabini explained, as Pansy started tugging on stray strands of blond hair. Harry had gathered that himself, but the display was sweet to watch in a strange way. He wondered if he’d ever understand the Slytherins.

Pansy wrinkled her nose as Draco’s eyes finally opened, a scowl on his face, “Draco, why couldn’t you fuck Potter in your own bed?”

“Because I thought this would piss you off more,” Draco grumbled, rolling over and tugging the covers over his head, but not before Harry and Pansy caught sight of the red mark on his jaw. Harry felt a flash of guilt shoot through him. He must have hit Draco hard in his panic last night at being dragged from his nightmare.

Harry stared at them both dumbstruck. He couldn’t work out if they were joking or not. “We didn’t fuck,” he stated. He could feel his ears burning at their words. He presumed Pansy would roll her eyes and tell him she knew that and didn’t he recognise a joke.

Pansy instead quirked an eyebrow, her hard, dark eyes surveying them both. “Whatever you say Potter, but from now on keep your kinky shit out of my room,” she said jumping off the bed and pulling the covers off them both. “Up before someone comes in and misinterprets the situation.” Harry didn’t like the smile that her and Zabini shared. Draco just groaned again and pulled the pillow over his face, though not before Harry noticed his enflamed cheeks. “And Hermione and Weasley will be here soon to discuss the campaign.”

Harry’s morning had gone from pleasantly waking up beside a cute boy, to being accused of fucking said cute boy, to having to face Ron, despite them having no time to settle their differences.

Harry slid out of bed blushing at Zabini and Pansy’s watchful eyes, and slunk into the bathroom before either of them could make another comment. Harry knew that they didn’t believe that he and Draco didn’t sleep together, which made no sense if Draco had a thing with Nott. However, it was just another nail in the coffin of Draco’s heterosexual façade, and that made Harry particularly happy.

Draco had vanished by the time Harry left the bathroom in last night’s clothes. They were still slightly damp from the storm, but it was better than Ron seeing Harry wearing Draco’s clothes. As far as Harry knew, Ron didn’t know about Harry’s bi-sexual revelation yet, and while Harry knew Ron would never resent Harry for his sexuality, he would throw a hissy fit like no other if he learnt of Harry’s keenness for the blond.

Breakfast was another strange affair. Harry was beginning to accept and expect that everything was strange when it came to the Slytherins.  Draco did little but grunt and grumble as he greedily accepted the coffee Millicent Bulstrode handed him. Goyle and Bulstrode gave Harry awkward nods of greeting before ignoring his existence and chatting with Pansy and Zabini about their plans for the day. Harry was more than happy to be ignored, so he grabbed a bowl of cereal and sat down beside Draco.

Without the stifling atmosphere provided by Narcissa and Lucius, the Slytherins acted just as Dumbledore’s Army did at the Burrow. They knew the routine and handed things to people without needing to be asked as they teased and joked with each other. It was extremely normal and lacked the plotting and scheming that Harry had imagined of them at school.

Goyle was the first to leave, and he muttered about having to do to his community service. Hermione had read that since he had never been a Death Eater, Goyle had only gotten community service for the crimes he committed during seventh year. Neville had been furious but had accepted someone like Gregory Goyle was too stupid to really be a threat to society. Goyle barely spared Harry a glance as he left.

Bulustrode was the next to leave and she simply offered Harry a polite nod and stated she was sure she’d see him again soon. Pansy had assured him that that was Bulustrode’s version of a glowing welcome, but Harry wasn’t so sure. Slytherins were strange creatures.

“If you’re meant to be on house arrest how come so many of your friends are allowed in?” Harry asked. The oddness of the situation had only just occurred to him.

The Slytherins shared smirks. “Our lawyer got them all registered as potential character witnesses so they can come and go whenever,” Draco said, and it was so Slytherin of them all that Harry could only smile.

* * *

 

When the doorbell rang Harry debated making a run for it. He was always useless in these planning meetings anyway. Hermione and Pansy were the brains, Ron and Zabini the strategists, and well, Draco was pretty useless also. He was always either sulking or being deliberately pernickety because he thought he deserved what the Ministry wanted to do. However, Harry knew he had to stay because he wanted to ask Kingsley for permission to bring Draco into the muggle world, and Harry needed a plan before he could do that.

He felt a shoulder nudge him and he glanced at Draco who was frowning and worrying his lip. Harry was beginning to notice that Draco he chewed his lip a lot. “You okay?” Draco mouthed to which Harry nodded a weak smile on his face. Draco had never asked why Harry had arrived looking such a mess late last night and Harry appreciated it. Draco’s frown deepened at Harry’s clearly unconvincing smile but he said nothing.

When the door opened to reveal only a tight-faced Hermione, Harry felt his chest lighten. Maybe there was no confrontation. He wasn’t ready for it; he hated arguing with Ron. Those days in the forest of Dean camping alone with Hermione had been some of the worst of his life. They needed Ron. He needed Ron.

“Harry?” Ron’s voice was timid as he stepped forward from where he’d been hiding, and Harry’s chest tightened again. Yet, there was only remorse on Ron’s face as he kicked his shoe against the door. “Can I…” He shot a glance at Hermione who nodded firmly, her lips pursed. “Can I talk to you?” Harry felt Draco stepping closer to him and for a moment Ron’s jaw tightened but he said nothing; he just rubbed his nose. “Please.”

Pansy shot Harry a confused look, and he felt Draco’s shoulder knock against his again. Harry hadn’t realised how close the other boy had gotten to him. It sent a blast of warmth through him and he nodded, “Of course.” Draco’s face was blank and Harry let his shoulder bump him back to tell him that he was fine. Nothing moved in Draco’s face, and Harry could feel those grey eyes on him as he stepped out the door closer to Ron.

“We’ll be upstairs,” Hermione said before shooing the Slytherins away.

Scuffing his shoes against the floor again, Ron inclined his head towards the grounds and Harry started walking. He hated the silence between them that was building up and up. Each step the swish of the grass sounded more like the crunch of forest leaves. _Speak_ he wanted to scream at Ron but his best mate said nothing as they walked. Harry had to say something or the silence was going to eat him alive; he could feel his heart rate increasing.

“I’m bi,” he blurted, wincing at how stupid he sounded. It hadn’t been what he’d meant to say but at least he’d shattered the silence.

Ron took another step before stopping and gazing at Harry, his freckled nose wrinkled, “You sure?”

“Pretty sure,” Harry nodded.

“Fair enough, so is Bill,” Ron said, playing with the edge of his top. It was the Cannons one that Ron adored even though Ginny told him time and time again that orange didn’t suit Weasleys. Harry had not known that Bill was bi, and he had a feeling his sexual awakening may have occurred earlier if he’d known this little fact.

“You don’t care?”

“No? Should I?”

“Muggles do a bit.”

“Some pureblood’s do when they want heirs, but otherwise…” Ron shrugged and his voice trailed off. Harry licked his lips. He knew Ron was trying to build up the courage to speak and this time Harry let him. “I’m a giant arsehole,” Ron said finally, shoulders slumping as he met Harry’s eyes. “I am an utter git, and I regret everything I said last night. I know you never meant to hurt Ginny.” Ron wrapped his arms around himself, and Harry realised he wasn’t angry at Ron, not really. He hadn’t been from the second he’d left the Burrow. “I know that doesn’t excuse everything I said, but Merlin Harry, I’m so sorry.”

Harry reached out and squeezed Ron’s arm. “It’s okay mate, I know.”

Ron met his eyes and pulled him in for a hug before grinning.

“So, what made you realise you were bi?” He asked, raising his eyebrows.

Harry laughed, “Well, I think I’ve always fancied Bill.” He darted away from Ron’s hand, laughing louder at the desperation on Ron’s face.

“You cannot have all my siblings!” Ron whined, but there was a smile there. Harry should have known that Ron wouldn’t care if he liked boys or girls or both. Ron’s reaction made Harry realise that his bisexuality wasn’t a big deal at all. “Did you ever fancy me?” Ron asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Nah, not my type.”

“How can I not be your type if you fancied two of my siblings?” Harry couldn’t tell if Ron was genuinely outraged or not.

Harry laughed, “You’re like my brother.”

Ron shrugged, accepting that argument. “So, was Bill really your bi awakening?” His nose wrinkled again at the thought.

Shaking his head, Harry ran a hand through his hair, “No… Urm… Justin Finch-Fletchley was, the other night at the club,” he confessed.

“Merlin, please tell me your type of guy isn’t blond and posh,” Ron pleaded, before repeating, “Justin Finch-Fletchley,” and pulling a face.

“Shut up,” Harry grinned, reaching out and hitting Ron’s shoulder. “Suppose now isn’t the time to tell you I slept in the same bed as Malfoy last night?” Harry added, watching the horror on Ron’s face unfold. Harry knew he’d decided not to tell that to Ron but he didn’t like keeping secrets from his best mate, and this was too funny to withhold.

Ron appeared to go through the seven stages of grief before narrowing his eyes at Harry. “You’re lucky I feel too bad about last night to have a proper go at you.” Harry smirked and pulled a face at Ron, laughing as they headed back the Manor together. Harry felt like everything was starting to work out properly now that Ron was on his side again. He was ashamed to realise that he never noticed Ron’s importance until he was gone.

“Did you hook up with him?” Ron asked as they paused outside the door of the Manor.

“Not yet.”

“Not yet?” Ron wailed, dropping his head into his hands, “I cannot believe that you have just looked me in the eye and said that you’d hook up with the fucking ferrert and not me!”

Harry rolled his eyes and shoved Ron. “I think Hermione would kill me.”

“You could have at least tried,” Ron grumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets. Harry laughed at the grin Ron was failing to hide.

Harry leaned in closer, “Okay baby,” he drawled, winking at his friend before darting inside laughing. He left Ron muttering for Merlin to give him strength and cursing Draco fucking Malfoy.

* * *

 

Harry flooed into the Ministry along with Ron and Hermione to ensure that no one tried to mob him. The Ministry workers had been warned of the consequences of doing so, but it didn’t stop them from trying. Harry hated big crowds and the feeling of their eyes on him only made him feel sick but he stuck his chin up and marched forward, Ron glowering at anyone who dared to stare for too long.

“Harry Potter!”

Harry bit the inside of his cheek and turned towards the timid voice. Scowling, Hermione stepped closer to Harry, and Ron moved to confront the stranger. None of them were particularly bothered about what the Prophet may print about them anymore. Their status as heroes who could do no wrong or deviants with deep rooted issues varied by the day. The latter led to more entertaining articles.

“Yes?” Harry asked, glancing at a young woman with blonde hair who flushed. She had to be a couple of years older than him and was dressed in robes that suggested she worked in the Ministry. Another young woman with short dark hair accompanied her, and they both glanced to where a crowd of other women giggled. Harry blanched: a few of them looked to be Mrs Weasley’s age.

The blonde woman tucked a long strand of hair behind her ear. Grudgingly, Harry noticed she was very pretty. “Give me a call if you want _anything_.” Her emphasis on the word _anything_ made Harry’s cheeks flush, and she shoved a piece of paper with her floo addresss into his hand before hurrying away giggling.

The dark-haired woman smirked and pressed a similar piece of paper into Ron’s hand. “ _Anything_ you want,” she said as she sauntered off. Ron’s whole body turned red as he stared, dumb-struck after the swaggering girl.

“Honestly,” Hermione scowled, giving them both a shove towards the lift before they were late to see Kingsley. Ron opened his mouth but she glowered at him, and he shut it firmly, making a big scene of ripping up the piece of paper. Hermione rolled her eyes but Harry could see that Ron wasn’t really in trouble. Harry shoved the piece of paper into the pockets of his robes where he’d probably never see it again. This wasn’t the first time Harry had been offered sex as thanks for saving the wizarding world and he doubted it would be the last.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were shuffled into Kingsley’s office promptly, and Harry was glad to see that Robards wasn’t there, just the Ministry official who had let them through the wards at the Manor. Harry couldn’t recall her name. She gave them a neutral nod and Kingsley beckoned for them to sit down.

“Your owl suggested you wanted to discuss young Mister Malfoy’s case with me,” he raised an eyebrow, “which I’m sure you’re aware is more Head Auror Robards’s area than mine.”

The female auror’s mouth curled as she regarded them. Harry could tell she didn’t trust them as far she could throw them which was fine since the feeling was mutual. She clearly didn’t give a shit about Draco, but she also did not appear to be quite as biased against the Malfoys as Robards was.

“However,” Kingsley continued a slight smile in his eyes, “I am aware of issues between you and Robards so I have brought Auror Osbourne in to oversee this meeting.” Harry could have hugged Kingsley for not involving Robards but he felt the Minister wouldn’t appreciate that.

“Thank you,” Hermione nodded, before launching into their prepared speech about the benefits of allowing Draco to leave the grounds with them to explore muggle areas. Ministry officials could set guidelines that they would adhere to, and be there to check Draco in and out of the Manor. She reminded them that Draco had no wand, which made Harry cringe. He was filled with the urge to return it, but Hermione’s words to Kingsley made it impossible. Perhaps he’d return it as a congratulations present when the charges were dropped. Harry didn’t care what Robards threw at them, Harry was not letting the Ministry win. Draco would not go to Azkaban or suffer the Kiss; the latter was unthinkable.

Once Hermione was finished speaking Kingsley pressed his fingers together and sighed.

Osbourne scowled, “You can’t be seriously considering this, Minister.”

Kingsley ignored her and shuffled a few documents on his desk. “We have the technology to allow it.” Noticing their confused expressions, he continued, “It’s all part of the recent reforms. Since we rid Azkaban of the Dementors, we needed another way of keeping the prisoners in check, so the Unspeakables-”

“Minister, are you sure you should be telling them this?” Osbourne demanded, her outrage etched onto her face. “They’re children.”

“We’re of age!” Ron snarled.

Harry sneered at her, his magic crackling at the slight. “I’m pretty sure it was us _children_ that not only made Voldemort’s death possible, but also killed him.” Osbourne shrank back into her chair, cheeks flushed, as she refused to meet their eyes.

“It will be public knowledge soon enough,” Kingsley sighed, ignoring the tension. “So, as I was saying, the Unspeakables have developed a wrist-band with the same abilities as the wards surrounding the Manor. However, instead of dampening the magic of an entire area, it merely reacts with the wizard wearing it.” Hermione sucked in a breath and nodded eagerly at the new information.

Harry frowned and picked at a piece of thread on the sleeve of his robes. “So why not always use them on the Malfoy’s instead of warding the whole Manor?”

“Because we have a limited number of these bands available currently and their priority is those in Azkaban,” Kingsley answered. “However, I would be willing to spare one for Draco Malfoy as I hope at his trial we will honestly see that he has changed.”

“When can we have access to it?” Harry blurted, hardly able to contain his excitement.

Offering Harry a small smile and ignoring Osbourne’s huff, Kingsley said, “I’ll have the Unspeakables sign off on it and alert Robards but I’ll put it on high priority. It will be ready to be picked up by tomorrow morning.” Harry’s grin only grew at Kingsley’s words and his mind started reeling at all the possibilities of what he could show Draco. “Of course, one of you three will have to be with him at all times.” They nodded in understanding.

“Try toning it down, mate,” Ron hissed into his ear as Harry’s grin grew so large it hurt. He schooled his features into a slightly more neutral expression, which caused Ron to snicker at him. Harry went to flip him off, but Hermione glowered at them both. So, he sat on his hands instead while Kingsley went over the rules and regulations for escorting Draco to and from muggle areas.

Harry left Kingsley’s office with a spring in his step, and with a sigh that Ron told Harry to go to fucking Malfoy and tell him the good news.  Hermione shot them both a look in confusion and Harry had to promise to explain everything later. As Harry bounded away laughing, he heard Ron advise Hermione to enjoy her innocence while it lasted.

* * *

 

The feeling of his magic being smothered didn’t even bother Harry as he strolled down the Manor path. He was going to tell Draco that for the first time in nearly three months, he was going to be able to leave the Manor grounds. Sure, Draco wouldn’t be able to feel his magic yet, but with just over a month until the trial, Harry was becoming more and more confident. They were going to win. He could see the changes in Draco as he became better person. Harry was sure that venturing into the outside world would only encourage that change.

He was nearly at the door when he spotted a flash of white hair and heard voices so he made a quick detour and followed the sounds. He paused at the sight of all the Slytherins gathered around the lake. Maybe he should have just waited until tomorrow to surprise Draco with the good news. Harry shuffled his feet as he stared at them, and he could see Draco’s white hair reclining in fucking Nott’s lap. What was Draco’s thing about having people play with his hair? Harry was filled with a sharp hatred for Nott.

“Potter!” Pansy squealed, jumping up and waving at him. He now had no choice but to join the group, and he was filled with a vicious joy when Draco sat up and moved away from Nott to make room for Harry.

All the main Slytherin players were there lounging in the grass. They looked particularly put out that Harry had decided to join them, none more so than Nott whose mouth had twisted into an ugly expression. It ruined what little good looks he had, and Harry relished in it.

It wasn’t that Nott was bad looking as such but he was too sulky looking for Harry, too practiced at looking haughty and pureblood. Draco’s face was much more expressive naturally (unless he put on that Slytherin mask), Harry liked that.

“How was the Minister?” Draco asked, his hand rubbing his Mark. It was unhidden as it always was around the Slytherins.

Harry shuffled, hating the way all of their eyes fell on him. None of their faces were particularly friendly bar Pansy’s. Draco’s was too worried, and Harry wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Zabini give him a friendly look.

“Harry?” Draco prompted, brows wrinkled.

“Can I speak to you in private?” Harry asked, noticing that Pansy’s eyes bulged and she shot him a grin. She was too observant for her own good. Harry kept his eyes firmly on Draco who nodded and stood up.

Nott’s eyes trailed them as they walked around the corner of the Manor. Draco chatted away merrily about some wizarding history thing he’d discovered that had had significant impacts on muggles. Harry wanted to kiss the dumb smile on Draco’s face whenever he discussed history; it drove him mad.

Harry was becoming more and more comfortable with his crush on Draco. Harry doubted anything would actually ever come of it, not with the possessive clench of Nott’s jaw and the amount of time they clearly spent together. But a boy could dream.

“You going to tell me what the Minister said now? Or do I have to force it out of you?” Draco crossed his arms and smiled but Harry could see the tension in his ramrod back and narrowed eyes.

“How exactly would you force it out of me?” Harry asked stepping closer to Draco. Harry liked how Draco looked when he blushed. With his pale skin, it was easy to make him flush and that’s exactly what happened as Draco scowled at him

“I am not dignifying that with a response,” Draco huffed as the blush reached his ears causing Harry’s grin to grow. “Stop smiling at me. You look like an idiot.”

Harry’s grin only grew further. Draco’s eyes were liquid silver again, and Harry could feel his warm breath on his cheek. He’d never noticed how close they often stood. It had never occurred to him to think anything of it, and he certainly wasn’t complaining now.

Harry licked his lips and noticed how Draco’s eyes tracked the movement. “Kingsley said yes,” he said, and his heart soared as Draco’s face lit up. “Starting tomorrow, you can leave the Manor as long as you’re with me, Ron, or Hermione.”

Draco stumbled back and shook his head. “You better not be fucking with me, Harry.” His voice was low and his face scrunched as if he were trying to school his emotions in case Harry was joking.

“Of course, I’m not,” Harry said. “You’ve got to be checked in and out by an auror and there’s a device to smother your magic, but you can leave the grounds.” Draco’s bottom lip trembled. “I’m going to take you to all the muggle places, and we’re going to beat Wizengamot,” he promised, reaching out and tucking a stray strand of hair behind Draco’s ear. “You’re going to go free.” Something Harry didn’t recognise bloomed in Draco’s eyes and he felt Draco’s warm hand over his. Harry’s eyes flickered to the red mark on Draco’s jaw from the previous night, and Harry’s fingers ghosted across it. “Sorry about this,” he murmured.

Draco let out a huff of laughter, “It’s alright.”

Harry wanted to lean in and kiss the idiot or just pause the moment right there with the sun beating down on them. Draco didn’t say anything but Harry liked that. He didn’t want another person feeling like they owed him. Draco’s lips were close to his and it would be so easy to just kiss him. It was so easy to believe Draco wanted to kiss him too in moments like this.

Harry wondered about the differences between kissing a boy or a girl.

A loud and deliberate cough had them both jumping apart to find Theodore Nott glowering at Harry. There was undisguised hatred in his eyes and jealousy in every sharp edge of his face.

“Theo!” Pansy’s warning cry came too late as she stumbled around the corner in her barely-there bikini. “Oh good, we all found each other,” she nodded, her voice full of fake cheer. “I presume all went well with the Minister, Potter?” she asked, barging past Nott who was shooting Harry a look that rivalled any Draco had ever given him at Hogwarts. Harry knew the situation looked dodgy but he wasn’t sure on what grounds Nott had reason to worry about.

“Yes,” Harry nodded, trying to smooth out his hair and avoid Nott’s glower. “I’m sure Draco can fill you in.” Draco was standing there looking shell-shocked.

“Are you off then?” Nott asked, his voice sullen. “I presume that’s the only reason you’re here?”

Draco scowled and muttered, “Theo,” as Pansy shot Nott a disapproving look.

Harry met Nott’s cold eyes and smirked. “Yeah, I’m off,” he said, starting to walk before turning deliberately to look at Draco. “Thank you for last night.” Harry’s thank you was genuine and if he let his gaze linger on Draco just long enough for Nott to start worrying, then that wasn’t his issue.

“No worries,” Draco nodded biting on his lip to stop his smile. “The offer wasn’t just for one night though, Harry. You know that,” he added. Nott’s face was contorted with disgust as Harry grinned.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said.

“I’ll walk you out,” Pansy said, quickly ushering him away from the furious whispers of Nott and Draco behind him.

The walk wasn’t long and they made pleasant chat about where they should go tomorrow in muggle London. Harry was just about to step over the Manor’s boundary when Pansy’s hand shot out and grabbed his arm.

“I don’t know what you’re playing at with Draco, Potter.” Her voice was low and her dark eyes dangerous. “I don’t know if you actually like him or what but let me warn you of something.” Harry felt himself cower in front of the smaller girl and the crimson nails digging into his arm. “If you fuck with him, I will kill you,” she smiled a terrifying flash of teeth, “and Lord Voldemort will seem like child’s play.” With that she let go off his arm and winked at him, “See you tomorrow, Potty.”

It took Harry a couple of minutes of staring at Pany’s back to recover and he let out a weak laugh as he stepped over the border, and his magic returned to him. Fucking Slytherins.

* * *

 This was the Burrow, Harry chastised himself, as he stood outside the second place he had ever really felt at home. He had been welcome here since long before he had started dating Ginny, and he would be welcome here long after. He’d broken up with her once before, and the Weasleys hadn’t commented on it. They understood better than anyone that the war had broken and shattered people beyond repair, that you couldn’t force anything.

He clenched his fists and tried to make himself step inside the kitchen door. He could hear everyone’s voices in the living room. What if the people whom he called his family no longer wanted him? His breath caught in the back of his throat as he forced himself to walk into the Burrow kitchen. He waited for his nerves to subside, but they only increased as he stood frozen on the hearth. The voices taunted him as they laughed and joked without him. They didn’t need him, he’d never fit in. Luna would take his place, and he’d be shunned like he had been with the Dursleys. The Weasleys would come to see him as a burden, someone they felt they ought to invite places but didn’t really want to.

“Harry?”

Ron’s low voice dragged Harry from his thoughts, and he drew a ragged breath. He could feel cold sweat on his forehead and trembling in his body

“Harry, breathe,” Ron commanded, his large hands gripping Harry’s arms. “Harry,” Ron’s voice was pleading and his blue eyes bright as Harry tried to form words to assure his best mate he was fine. He dug his nails into his palms to try and calm down. _Focus on the pain,_ he told himself, _they don’t need this burden_.

Someone else came into the kitchen, but Ron barked at whoever it was to leave. Harry let himself be led over to one of the rickety kitchen chairs and sat down. Ron’s voice was soothing in his ear, like an old lullaby, as he talked Harry down from the edge. Bit by bit Harry felt his breath calming, his pulse slowing, and the panic drifting away. Slowly he unfolded his fists, wincing at the blood that welled from where he’d dug his nails in too tightly.

“Fuck,” Harry rasped, as Ron passed him a glass of water. Harry took a greedy sip and let his head slouch down. His sweaty hair clung to his forehead, and he felt like a fucking idiot.

Ron said nothing as he shoved a bar of chocolate under Harry’s nose, causing Harry to shoot him a weak grin at the memory of Lupin. His answer to all problems had been chocolate, and it was a life motto Ron had since adapted. Andromeda despaired at how they’d taught it to Teddy.

Harry took a bite out of the corner of the bar and chewed. He hated these panic attacks, and Hermione kept begging him to a see a mind healer, but Harry couldn’t bear the thought of someone probing about in his mind. His issues were his alone, and he was dealing with them. Maybe he wasn’t dealing with them fantastically well, but he was dealing with them.

“Want to talk about it?” Ron asked, leaning forward, brows furrowed.

Harry shook his head. Ron wouldn’t laugh at him, but he wouldn’t understand, either.  Harry knew Ron would say that his fears of being excluded from the Weasley family were ridiculous.  He wouldn’t understand that Ron and Hermione were a pair now, and Harry was alone. He would always be a slight outsider, whether the family intended it or not. He didn’t blame them for it, it was just the truth.

“You worried about seeing mum?”

“Yeah, a bit,” Harry confessed.

Ron sighed, rubbing his nose. “She’s not mad at you Harry, she just wanted you and Gin to get married, you know.”

Harry very much did know that. In fact, it was all of Mrs Weasley’s hints about marriage that made him realise that he didn’t see a future with Ginny. Not that he’d ever tell Molly that.

“Sorry, not helping.” Ron shot him a weak smile, and Harry shook his head. He needed to man-up, or Gryffindor up, and get it over and done with. Pull the band-aid off and face Mrs Weasley. Face Arthur and the rest.

“Ron? Harry?” Hermione’s tentative voice carried through the room, and Harry met Ron’s blue eyes. They told Harry that if he wanted to, they could both vanish right now and come back later absolutely pissed off their faces.

He steeled himself and stood up, legs only slightly shaky. “Coming.” Ron nodded at him, and together they walked in to what Harry viewed as the Hit Wizard squad.

Lying on the camp bed on Ron’s floor later that night, Harry concluded that things could have gone considerably worse. Mrs Weasley hadn’t banished him from her house. She had simply given him a hug and launched into a discussion about his birthday, which was in a little over a week. Harry was grateful for the distraction; he hadn’t been thinking too much about his birthday, what with everything else that had been going on. He didn’t miss the longing looks she kept shooting him and Ginny all through the night, but he was able to ignore them.

Harry had told Hermione that he’d concluded that he was bisexual, and she’d thrown her arms around him and practically squeezed the life out of him, causing Ron to snicker in the corner. The three of them stayed up for a few hours after that while Hermione tried to get him to open up about his emotions while Harry and Ron shared exasperated looks.

The admission that Harry had a crush on Draco had left Hermione scandalised but not surprised. Apparently, his obsession during sixth year blunted the shock out. Harry had tried to pout about it, but they had just laughed at him. He hadn’t been _that_ bad. However, now thoughts of Draco’s warm body plagued Harry as he rolled over alone, hating the fact that Draco would be curled up with Nott tonight. Harry wanted to be with Draco, their legs entwined, and he let that fantasy chase away the nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gahh I hope you liked it!! It's not until posting this and reading back that I realised how much of a slow burn it is... And anyway I promise it will be amounting to something that you will be seeing in the next couple of days!! Thank you for sticking with me on their journey 
> 
> Anywayy as always kudos and comments are the bestest thing ever and if you liked it I love knowing <3


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today comes with two chapters as a thankyou for all your lovely comments because let me tell you all that I legit love anyone who reads and enjoys this fic more than I can put into words

Hermione and Harry arrived at the Manor far too early in his opinion.  Ron apparently shared this view as well, since he had merely waved them away before rolling over and going back to sleep. Apparently showing Malfoy the muggle sights of London was not something Ron felt he needed to do.

Pansy and Draco were waiting for them at the Manor entrance with Osbourne, and Harry could feel the tension emanating off them. Draco’s face was twisted into an expression that he probably thought was neutral, while Osbourne just flat out scowled. Harry considered that based on what he’d seen yesterday, maybe nine am was just too early for Draco to function. In a pink summer dress and careful make-up, Pansy was the only one of the three who looked welcoming.

“You’re late,” she sighed, inspecting one of those sharp crimson nails that Harry very vividly remembered being attached to his arm. He dropped his eyes. He thought there was no shame in being terrified of Pansy Parkinson.

Hermione shot Harry an ‘I-told-you-so’ look, and he rubbed the back of his neck.

He hadn’t been able to decide what to wear and had tried on six different tops before Ron had said that if liking boys was going to turn him into such a fucking wetty he could piss off. Harry had sharply reminded Ron of what a wetty he’d been over Hermione, and they had started squabbling until Hermione told Harry he looked fine and dragged him out of the room.

Osbourne cleared her throat, and Draco scowled at her. Harry gave him a look; the idiot didn’t help himself sometimes. “I’d quite like to get this over and done with,” Osbourne said. They nodded and stepped back to let her get to work.

First, she attached the contraption to Draco’s ankle, explaining he wouldn’t be able to feel the effects at first because he would be inside the Manor wards and wouldn’t be able to feel his magic anyway. However, throughout the day he’d probably find himself feeling more and more drained because of the direct suction the dampener exerted on his magic. Draco nodded as Osbourne explained the tracking device and the curfew that was installed. The Unspeakables had outdone themselves with these contraptions, and  they  would revolutionise the Wizarding prison system. Dementors were now banned from Azkaban, and only a few remained in a select room to be used for the Kiss. Harry imagined their presence would linger, since a Dementor’s presence didn’t just vanish overnight and they’d been at Azkaban a long time.

Then Osbourne altered the Manor wards. Harry’s breath caught in his throat when he saw the vulnerability on Draco’s face as Osbourne ushered him off of the Manor Grounds. As Draco took a deep breath and stepped outside, Pansy reached over and squeezed his hand.

“One step closer to freedom,” she promised, and the fragile hope on Draco’s face made Harry’s heart skip.

Draco schooled himself again as Osbourne recounted the rules and consequences of breaking them.  Harry sensed that the aurors were all hoping Draco would fuck up. It would be the final nail in the Malfoys’ coffin if he did. After what felt like forever, (but was actually only twenty minutes according to Harry’s watch), Osbourne finally left, leaving the four of them alone.

“Shall we go catch our train then?” Pansy asked, clapping her hands and breaking the silence. She linked her arm with Hermione’s and marched off. The nearest train station was just around the corner. Harry was highly amused at the thought of Draco on the Tube.

Harry fell into step alongside Draco, who was staring at the train station around him with childlike wonder. Harry imagined that Draco felt similar to the way Harry did when Ron freed him from the Dursleys’ the summer before their second year. Draco glanced over, and Harry flushed at having been caught staring; Draco just smirked at him.

“So, what’s on the agenda today?” Harry asked quickly. Pansy and Draco had been doing all the research for today’s trip, as they were basically tourists in muggle London, despite the fact Pansy had once lived there. Harry didn’t know London as well as Hermione did due to the Dursleys’ dislike of being seen in public with him, so he was quite excited to see what was planned.

Draco smoothed down his jeans. It was weird seeing him in jeans, but Pansy had gone out and bought him a load of muggle-worthy outfits yesterday. Harry couldn’t fault Pansy’s style, as Draco looked fantastic in muggle clothes. “I was thinking the British Museum and the Tower of London to start.”

A loud groan sounded from in front of them. “I hope you appreciate that I love you enough to have willingly agreed to spend a whole day studying muggle history.” Harry smirked at Pansy’s comment as she turned back and stuck her tongue out at Draco, who flipped her off. “It is neither sweet nor attractive how much of a fucking history nerd you are.”

“Got to say I never pegged you as a history nerd at Hogwarts,” Harry teased, laughing as Draco scowled at him.

Pushing back a stray strand of blond hair, Draco shrugged. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Potter.” It was a fair enough statement, but Harry glared at him until Draco laughed. “But yes, I always loved History of Magic, shame about Binns being such a bore.”

“He did so much extra reading, oh Merlin, please do not get him started!” Pansy called back, causing Hermione to laugh — hypocritically in Harry’s mind.

“You are not involved in this conversation,” Draco pouted before turning back to Harry. “What about you?”

Harry pulled a face. “The history always sounded interesting, especially since I grew up not knowing anything about the wizarding world. But Binns was so boring, and I certainly wasn’t interested enough to read more on my own.” Harry regretted that now, as he wished he could actually hold a conversation with Draco about it all, but that was more Hermione’s forte. “So why the interest in muggle history?”

“I like the contrast with wizarding history, and there’s so much I just didn’t know,” Draco confessed. “It’s not as boring and stupid as I thought it would be. Also, their ways of explaining things that have been affected by magic,” he laughed in slight disbelief, “my personal favourite is how the ancient civilisations dealt with it. All their tales of ancient gods who were actually powerful wizards and witches doing things that muggles couldn’t explain.” Draco’s face was alight as he blabbered on about all reading he’d done.

Harry didn’t understand much of it, but he tried to focus as Draco chatted away.

“They should make a wizarding museum,” Harry said as they arrived at the station. “You know, one that contains all our history from the old times with Merlin and the Founders, to the Wars.”

Draco nodded eagerly. “So many of the important artefacts are owned by pure-blood families as a sign of wealth and wizarding pride, though. It would be difficult to get them to give them up, but think of the possibilities.” Draco’s face wore a dreamy expression, and Harry wasn’t sure how much notice Draco actually took of the train journey into London as he and Hermione engaged in a lively debate about the prospects of a wizarding museum.

* * *

 

Pansy and Draco riding the Tube had been just as entertaining as Harry had anticipated. Neither of them seemed prepared for the crowds of muggles, and they both snarled as they were jostled about and ignored.

“How do muggles cope?” Pansy sighed loudly, causing Hermione to give her a firm look as they ran to catch the Tube and squeezed in amongst the sweaty, smelly people of London.

All sharp elbows and edges, Draco shoved his way through the crowd until he reached an empty space, and Harry followed behind him, shooting people apologetic smiles.

Seeing the tension wound into Draco’s mouth, Harry leaned in close. “Relax,” he murmured, running a hand down Draco’s arm.

Draco leaned into the touch. “I am relaxed.” Harry raised his eyebrows in response, and Draco scowled. “Fine, but I’ve never been around so many muggles.” The word still sounded dirty in his plummy voice. “And I am utterly defenceless.” His shoulders sagged at the confession, and Harry moved in closer until their bodies brushed.

“They aren’t going to hurt you.” Harry hadn’t thought about how vulnerable someone like Draco would feel being out in public without his wand. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

“The great Saviour,” Draco said with a roll of his eyes, but Harry heard the _thank you_ he didn’t say. Malfoys.

When it was their stop, he unconsciously took Draco’s hand and led him through the crowds. Draco merely entwined their fingers as they went. Harry caught Hermione and Pansy exchanging looks, but they did not say anything. It was with great sadness that Harry let go of Draco’s hand once they all emerged into the bustling streets of London.

Harry welcomed the noise of the crowds and screeches of taxis, since they were so different from the silence of the forest. He’d thought about buying an apartment here when he could bring himself to move out of the Burrow. He supposed he ought to start thinking about that more seriously now that the only place he could sleep was on Ron’s floor. He knew they’d never say anything, but Hermione and Ron deserved time alone to be a couple.

Of course, Harry would have to sell Grimmauld Place as well, but he’d deal with that bridge when he came to it. There was no need to rush it.

As they all walked towards the British Museum, Harry saw the tension fade from Draco’s face, and he stopped looking for threats around every corner. For all of their sakes, they had decided to stick to muggle tourist areas to avoid running into wizards.  Harry and Hermione didn’t feel like being crushed in a wave of people desperate to thank them, and likewise, Pansy and Draco didn’t want to encounter a wave of people wanting to kill them. If they acknowledged them at all, muggles gave the group a blank stare. In dark moments Harry contemplated giving up on the wizarding world altogether and moving back to the muggle one. But then he would remember falling in love with magic that first day in Diagon Alley, and he knew he could never leave. As much as he sometimes despaired at the wizarding world, it was his home.

At Draco’s request, they stopped for coffee, and Harry grinned like an idiot while Draco interacted with the barista. Harry watched Draco slowly count out his muggle money, pay for his drink, and then take his large coffee with a nervous smile. Harry was pretty sure the barista thought they were a group of absolute idiots, or that Draco was “special,” but Harry didn’t care, and thankfully Draco didn’t catch onto the barista’s patronising smile.

“I told you muggles don’t bite,” Harry laughed softly, bumping his shoulder against Draco’s as they left. Draco’s look told Harry he was being an idiot, but he didn’t say Harry was wrong.

Any remaining tension in Draco’s body left the second they entered The British Museum. He and Hermione bustled about, reading the guide books and inspecting the exhibits, talking in hushed tones about their correlation to wizarding culture. Draco often scoffed at some of the ridiculous theories muggles had come up with to explain away magic, which would lead to him and Hermione getting into heated arguments. He was more knowledgeable than her about wizarding history, having been brought up in a family that emphasised its importance. Harry could see her relishing the academic challenge that neither he nor Ron ever presented.

“If you look any soppier I’m going to puke,” Pansy hissed in his ear, making him jump.

He tried to school his expression into an innocent one. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Playing dumb with her was a stupid approach really, and Pansy clearly thought the same as she huffed and stormed off towards Hermione.

“What did you do?” Draco smirked, as they let the two girls go off together. “You know what? If you’d told Pansy a year ago that she’d be walking arm in arm with Hermione Granger, she’d have hexed you.”

“If you’d told me a year ago that I’d end up liking you, I’d have hexed you,” Harry responded, and Draco conceded.

“If you’d told me I’d end up enrolled in Harry Potter’s school for muggle lovers, I’d have hexed you,” Draco said.

Harry grinned. “If you’d told me that I’d end up teaching muggle studies to a bunch of Slytherins, I would have laughed at you and then hexed you.”

Rolling his eyes but smiling Draco replied, “If you’d told me I’d think you weren’t an utter tosser, I’d have hexed you.”

“You don’t think I’m a tosser?” Harry grinned.

“I said I don’t think you’re an _utter_ tosser,” Draco said, sticking his nose up in the air.

Harry hummed, “Whatever.”

“You’re the one who said you liked me,” Draco said, sounding particularly childish.

“I did, didn’t I?” Draco’s cheeks went that delightful shade of pink again as Harry stepped closer to him. Harry needed to know what Draco’s cologne was, because it was particularly inviting. “But that doesn’t carry the same weight as _you_ confessing you don’t think I’m a tosser.”

“An utter tosser.”

Hell, it would be so easy to kiss him right now. He didn’t think Draco would push him away if he did, either. Harry wanted to.

“What’s going on with you and Nott?” Harry asked, the words falling out of his mouth before he could think about how it would completely and utterly ruin the moment.

Draco jumped back as if he’d been scalded. “I don’t know what you mean.” His eyes flashed, the colour of stormy rocks. “He’s my friend.”

“He seems like an arse.” It had absolutely nothing to do with Harry being jealous either. Theodore Nott did just seem like an absolute arse. Unlike the other Slytherins, he’d made no effort to be nice to Harry and his friends, and just stared grumpily or was rude.

Against his will, Draco’s mouth twitched. “Well, I can’t deny that.”

“But you like him?” Harry questioned.

Draco turned back to another old pot that Harry thought looked exactly the same as the last five they’d seen — though he didn’t say this to Draco. “Like I said, he’s my friend, one of my oldest,” Draco said firmly. His voice did not invite any further conversation, but that had never stopped Harry before.

“I don’t care if you like boys, you know,” he said, shuffling next to Draco and pretending to inspect the pot.

Letting out an indignant splutter that sounded like an outraged hawk, his cheeks a brilliant red, Draco whirled on Harry.  “I do not like boys!” he hissed, prodding Harry firmly in the chest.

“I do.” Harry watched as Draco’s mouth opened and closed like a fish for a moment. It was particularly satisfying to see, and Harry shoved his hands in his pockets as he waited for Draco to regain his tongue. The pot was Greek, the sign said, and portrayed Zeus and one of his male lovers. it was a particularly fitting pot to witness their conversation.

Letting out a cough Draco finally regained control of his face. “Is that why you broke up with the She-Weasel?” His eyes were narrowed.

Harry scowled at the nickname. “Don’t call Ginny that and no, I just happened to realise I was bi about the same time I realised we weren’t working.” He wanted to say that he didn’t understand why Draco was making such a big deal out of this, but then again, he’d never seen Draco react as expected about anything.

“Well… well… well good for you! There is no need to force your fetishes on the rest of us!” Draco snapped, storming off towards the other end of the pot room. Harry watched him go, scowling. His _fetishes_. Nott had all but claimed Draco, and here was the idiot denying it. Harry had told Draco he wouldn’t judge him, and he’d even come out to him, yet Draco had still thrown a hissy fit.

Hermione’s sigh sounded in his ear, and he turned his gaze from the Zeus pot to see Pansy squabbling with Draco in the corner.

“Do I want to know what you said?” Her expression was stern, and he shot her a guilty smile. “Harry.” He sighed at the warning tone in her voice.

She always managed to make him feel like he was being scolded by a school teacher. “I simply asked if he liked boys.”

Hermione blinked at him before rolling her eyes. “Oh Harry, you really are as thick as a plank.” He started to protest, but she held up her hand, effectively silencing him. “Let’s try not to make Malfoy murder you on his first trip out.” With that, she dragged him over to Pansy and Draco.

The two girls made loud and forced conversation until Hermione started another history debate with Draco, and bit by bit he thawed. Harry wasn’t sure he’d ever understand Draco Malfoy, but Merlin did he want to.

* * *

 

Pansy Parkinson was staring at the medieval torture devices with a little too much glee on her face for Harry to feel entirely comfortable. After huffing and sighing her way around the British Museum, she had perked up considerably during lunch, toasting to freeing Draco from the Manor with a couple of large cocktails. However, the prospect of an afternoon of more history had dampened her mood again until they got to the torture devices, where she had declared that they had finally found something interesting. Harry felt a shiver down his spine, and he longed for the safety of broken pots.

Draco was inspecting a stretching machine with a look of morbid curiosity on his face that had Harry praying to Merlin to save him from Slytherins. “Muggles certainly were creative,” Draco mused.

“They can’t just flick their wands and cast a Cruciatus curse,” Harry shrugged, moving out of the way of a muggle couple who shot him a strange look.

Draco turned around, his face aghast. “Wizards can’t just flick their wands and cast a Cruciatus curse either.” Harry kicked him as the muggle couple’s frowns deepened. “You have to mean it.” Harry was transported back to that bathroom when Draco had tried to Crucio him. Harry wondered if Draco would have been able to cast it properly if Harry hadn’t interrupted him by cutting him open. He imagined he would have. Something shuttered behind Draco’s eyes, and he turned back to the torture devices. Through his connection with Voldemort, Harry had once seen Draco being forced to Crucio one of the Death Eaters. t

“I know,” Harry said, “cast it on one of the Carrows for spitting on McGonagall.” Draco let out a low whistle and laughed softly. Harry remembered the rage and fury bubbling at that man daring to disrespect the woman Harry esteemed so much. “Tried to use it on Bellatrix once.”

“Did it work?”

“Not properly.” Harry wished he’d killed her there and then. He closed his eyes and pushed the painful memory of Sirius’s death aside; what he would do to have his godfather back. A painful lump grew in his throat.

Draco’s hand ghosted across his back. “Shame, if anyone deserved a good torture it was Aunt Bella.” Harry couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all, and when he looked at Draco that soft smile was back on his face as the ghosts of the war faded from his eyes. Harry imagined his own face looked pretty similar.

“I can’t believe she was your Aunt,” he snorted. Draco had none of his aunt in his face apart from the haughty handsomeness that seemed to run in the Black blood.

“I try to forget,” Draco said primly before pulling a face. “Does it count as a claim to fame that my Aunt most likely shagged the Dark Lord?”

“Not the kind of fun fact that goes on a chocolate frog card,” Harry smirked. Draco hummed and moved onto another torture device, tilting his head as he inspected it. “You making notes?”

“Yes, I thought the Malfoy dungeons could do with a refurbish and muggle torture devices came to mind.” Draco’s voice was dripping with sarcasm. “This whole trip was actually just a ploy to help me develop my fetish for torturing innocent children and puppies.” A young woman shot them a terrified glance and hurried out of the room.

They caught each other’s eyes and laughed. Harry would bottle Draco’s laugh if he could. It was such a wholesome, happy sound; he imagined if love potions made a sound it would be Draco Malfoy laughing. Harry didn’t let himself dwell on the thought, because if he did he would have to admit that his crush on Draco sodding Malfoy went a lot deeper than just thinking he was a pretty boy, and Harry wasn’t ready to deal with that yet.

* * *

 The lawyer who had overseen the life debt binding wore a forced smile as she regarded them. Harry had to concede it was an odd group gathered around the Malfoy dining room table. Draco was sat in the centre opposite the lawyer, his mother and Pansy flanking him on either side, followed by Lucius and Zabini on either side of them respectively. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were sat around the lawyer, who had introduced herself as Cecelia Greengrass and gazed at the paperwork spread out across the table.

Ron was doing an awful job of not glowering at Lucius Malfoy, who was staring straight ahead with the expression of a man who had just fallen into a pile of dung. Harry had never met a family who’d managed to perfect the look of smelling dung quite so well.

Hermione, Pansy, Narcissa, and Cecelia had their heads bent over the latest “Free Draco” _Prophet_ article. It included a strongly-worded letter from Hermione about restarting the wizarding world on the right foot now that the war was over. Not fighting prejudice with prejudice, etc. The end of July was nearing, and once August came Harry, Ron, and Hermione were going to throw their combined weight behind forcing the public to support Draco, shaming the Ministry into dropping the charges against him.

“But Draco’s trial involves more than _Prophet_ articles,” Cecelia said.

“Of course,” Pansy said, “we’re just trying to raise awareness at the moment, put the Ministry on its back foot.”

Cecelia hummed. “It’s a good strategy. The Ministry planned to make an example of Draco by publicly shaming him, but you’re twisting the situation,” she smiled. Harry thought it was a particularly Slytherin kind of smile.

“So, what about the trial itself?” Narcissa questioned, her hands folded neatly on the table.

“We need as many character witnesses as we can get and as much as it pains me to say, the more non-Slytherins we have the better. Obviously having the big three here will do wonders, but they’ll be put under veritaserum and most likely legilimency to show the memories they have formed of Draco. Both methods will be necessary for the Wizengamot to get an accurate reading of Draco’s post-war character, which is what your main argument rests on, as you can’t testify to most of his wartime actions.” She paused and her eyes fell on Harry as he shifted in his seat.

“Actually,” Harry could feel all of their eyes on him, “we can offer testimony about his wartime actions as well.” Cecelia raised an eyebrow, and he took this as a prompt to continue. “I was there on the tower with Dumbledore and also when Draco failed to identify me- us, that night at the Manor.”

If Harry hadn’t been watching he would have missed the way both Draco’s and Lucius’s jaws tightened. He imagined Lucius resented his son for that choice more than anything. It could have changed the tide of the war. Voldemort might have won, and the Malfoy name would have been powerful. Harry felt a wave of hatred  for Lucius Malfoy, and felt no guilt  about letting Lucius’s soul be sucked out. He had harmed not only Harry’s friends, but his own family. Lucius had poisoned his son’s mind and encouraged him to join a group of mass murderers.

Cecelia gave Harry an appraising nod. “That will be most useful, Mr Potter. We’ll have to consider the statements the prosecution will ask you to give against Mr Malfoy.”

Draco let out a bitter laugh. “I’m sure they’ll be delightful memories of our school days.”

“You made your bed, mate,” Ron shrugged. And it was true, Harry didn’t have any sympathy for Draco’s bullying days. Draco scowled at Ron and ducked his head, letting his blond hair fall over his face.

Lucius’s jaw clenched further. “ _You_ of all people, Weasley, do not get to speak to my son that way.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Ron demanded, features twisting.

“Nothing,” Narcissa interrupted smoothly, “Lucius means nothing at all. Mr Weasley, we are extremely thankful for all the help you’re offering our family.”

“Anyway, I’m hoping your childhood bullying days won’t count too much against you. If we gave every bully the Kiss, they’d never be allowed to change,” Cecelia said, neatly sidestepping the tension and moving the conversation on.

It was a fair point. Harry’s own father had been a bully and so had Sirius. They’d tormented Snape the same way Draco had tormented Harry, and they’d grown up. Well, Sirius had never exactly grown out of tormenting Snape, and Harry had a feeling his father hadn’t either, but they’d grown as people. They weren’t the bullies they’d been at school and neither was Draco.

And then there were Snape and Regulus who had both joined the Death Eaters at the same age as Draco, become disillusioned, realised the truth, and atoned for their mistakes. They’d been celebrated as war heroes once their names had been cleared, and Harry was determined to do the same for Draco.

“Oh Harry, Molly wanted to know what you are planning for your birthday?” Hermione said as they prepared to leave Cecelia to deal with Narcissa’s and Lucius’s cases. Hermione was shoving her never-ending piles of paper into her bag. Harry was sure that Hermione pushed the limits of the extension charm at times.

He shrugged, “Drinks at the Burrow?”

“So, any other Friday night?” Ron laughed.

Draco let out a yelp, causing them all to glance up. Lucius sent his son a particularly ugly scowl as the teenagers shuffled out of the dining room, Draco still rubbing his side and glowering at an unapologetic Pansy.

“So, it’s your birthday soon, Potter?” Pansy asked, sidling up to Harry. He didn’t trust the smile on her face, and judging by the worry etched between Draco’s brows, neither did he.

Harry nodded, “Friday.” He didn’t particularly care for his birthday after last year, when it had been the last good day before everything went to shit. Getting a year older just seemed a bit meaningless. Luna had tried suggesting that they should treat Harry’s birthday like it was his first, seeing as he’d technically died and been reborn, but he’d vetoed that. It all seemed a waste of his time, but he’d rather turn eighteen than one again. “Why?”

“You should come here for birthday drinks!” Pansy said, grinning.

“But the Burrow-” Ron started, throwing Harry a desperate look. Harry had to agree. He didn’t think either the Ministry or Molly would be best pleased about Harry asking them to celebrate his birthday at the Manor.

Pansy rolled her eyes and waved Ron off. “Obviously not on your birthday, but perhaps the following Saturday night. What do you think, Draco?”

Draco looked as if Pansy had just asked if he thought it would be a good idea for them all to get naked and dance around muggle London. Harry snickered at the thought before flushing as he realised he was picturing Draco naked: long pale limbs, flushed cheeks, and grey eyes. Harry stared at a particularly extravagant crystal vase and tried to shift his thoughts to anything but a naked Draco underneath him.

By the time Harry had recovered, he realised that everyone was staring at him. “Sorry, what?” he mumbled, as Ron shot him a strange look and Draco sighed as though Harry were a moron.

“Draco just kindly invited you and your Gryffindor friends to join us here Saturday night, so we can show you a real celebration,” Pansy said.

Letting out a huff, Draco folded his arms, “Not what I said.”

“More Gryffindors means more character witnesses,” Pansy pointed out.

“I don’t think you Slytherins could keep up with us,” Ron interrupted, a challenge glinting in his blue eyes.

Zabini let out a laugh. “You Gryffindors won’t know what hit you, Weasel.” The two began throwing back and forth House-related insults as Pansy and Hermione watched in despair.

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.” Draco’s low voice had Harry turning away from the ridiculous squabble to find Draco wringing his hands. “I mean, of course you’re welcome to, but don’t feel pressured. I would understand why you wouldn’t want to spend an excessive amount of time here. I wish I didn’t have to. I certainly imagine that none of the other Gryffindors would want to accompany you, and I don’t blame them…”

Harry had always known Draco was dramatic at school, but he had never imagined how much the other boy would be babble when put on the spot. Harry wondered who was less succinct: Hermione or Draco.

He cut Draco off before he could continue to blather away. “Yes.”

“Yes, you don’t want to come for birthday drinks?” The corners of Draco’s mouth curled in disappointment.

Harry rolled his eyes; to think Draco called him an idiot. “That makes no sense, and yes, I would like to come for birthday drinks here on Saturday night.” Those grey eyes flashed warm silver as Draco nodded.

“Oh, of course.” Draco’s smile was infectious. “Be prepared to be drunk under the table.”

Harry let out a bark of laughter and shook his head.

Eyes flashing, Draco drawled, “Scared, Potter?”

Draco’s tone sent a shiver through him. Merlin, Draco Malfoy’s posh voice —  the sound of liquid gold and wealth — did something maddening to Harry. Or maybe it was the words: they didn’t carry the hostility that they had back in second year, and even Harry  could feel the sexual tension as he smirked back, “You wish.”

Someone coughed, and he spun around to see Pansy, Zabini, Hermione, and Ron all looking at the pair of them with exasperation. Harry rubbed the back of his neck and tried not to laugh at the distaste on Ron’s face at the blatant flirting.  Harry had no doubt he would be punished for it later at the Burrow by another one of Ron’s awful reenactments. However, judging by the glee on Pansy’s face, Harry wasn’t the only one who would be tortured later.

“See you Saturday, Potter,” Draco mumbled, holding his head high and marching off towards his end of the Manor.

Ron grumbled, “Rude.”

“See you Saturday, Gryffindors,” Pansy laughed and saluted them, then dragged Zabini away.

With a look of childish glee, Ron turned on Harry. Harry tried to scowl back but couldn’t stop smiling long enough to do so. “Don’t fucking start with me, mate.”

“Wasn’t going to,” Ron said smugly, wrapping an arm around Hermione’s waist as they started walking down the drive. “You could have cut that sexual tension with a knife.”

“Ron.”

“Saying nothing.”

* * *

The wind whistled through his hair as Harry dived down after Seamus. The Irish boy let out a whoop as he threw the quaffle to Dean, forcing Harry to veer off course to get in position. Seamus’s eyes were always on Dean, making playing with them a hazard. Harry’s mind had been too caught up with Draco recently to have a good game of Quidditch, so when Ginny had demanded they play today, he had agreed.

“Fuck you all!” Ron yelled, whirling around and intercepting the ball when Dean tried to pass back to Seamus. Flying behind and around Ginny, Harry let out a wild laugh, while she darted past him to catch the ball Ron had thrown.

Harry had been considering heading over to Draco’s for one more muggle lesson before Saturday, but Ron had begged Harry to stay at the Burrow and just spend the day being idiots. Harry had argued they would be in all of tomorrow for his birthday, but then Ginny had stepped in, and the Weasleys defeated him.

Though no one would never tell Hermione, who was visiting her parents, the Quidditch match went a lot better without her there. That left only Luna who was useless, and she tended to drift off to visit the gnomes, finding their conversation more thrilling than the matches.

Harry flew towards the ground before pulling up at the last minute, throwing Ginny off- course, and snatching the ball from her. She was a much better Chaser than he was, but he never felt more in his element than he did when he was on a broom. It was like duelling —   the ecstasy of running on auto-pilot and adrenaline but without the fear of death.

As much as Harry loved their games, he missed the stakes of the Hogwarts matches, the feeling of desperation and excitement pumping through his body as he tried to catch sight of that Golden Snitch. When Draco was free and able to use his magic again, Harry was going to invite him to join in the Quidditch matches or at least play a seeker’s game with him. There had been nothing quite like the competitive edge he’d felt when trying to beat Draco to the snitch. The two of them really had been obsessed at school.

Eventually the game fizzled out with Harry, Dean, and Seamus winning. They had had the advantage of having two chasers and one seeker on their team, while Ron, Ginny, and Luna had had one chaser, a keeper, and Luna. Ron was still grumbling about their disadvantage as they stashed their brooms and headed back into the Burrow for a post-game snack. Ginny and Dean were playfully arguing up ahead and Harry noticed the longing glances Ginny kept throwing Luna, who was still conversing with the gnomes.

“‘Sup Harry?” Seamus grinned, falling into step beside him and rubbing a dirty smudge off the side of his face. “Haven’t seen you around much recently.”

Rubbing his neck, Harry shot Seamus a guilty smile. “Yeah, been busy.”

“With Malfoy?” Seamus leered.

Harry rolled his eyes, “Yes, as you know.”

Seamus’s grin was infectious and light-hearted. “I mean he’s not my type, and I definitely think you could do better, but if you don’t hate him, he can’t be awful.”

Harry’s brain finally caught up with Seamus’s words. “Your type?” Surely, he wasn’t that oblivious; he’d lived with Seamus for six years at school.

“Yeah, I more prefer the tall, dark, and handsome boys if I do say so.”

It was as if something clicked in Harry’s mind, a missing puzzle piece that he hadn’t known he’d been looking for until someone handed it to him. “You and Dean!” He’d just presumed they were close friends, but was there something more. Fucking hell, he’d been so caught up in his own life he hadn’t even noticed what was going on under his nose.

Seamus shook his head and then shrugged, shooting a longing glance over to where Dean was walking with Ginny. “More like just me.”

Harry felt as if he’d been hit over the head with a bludger. Every small look, every easy laugh, the way Seamus was always at Dean’s side.

“How do you know he doesn’t feel the same?”

Seamus shrugged, a sad sort of smile on his face. “I just know. He’s never shown any interest.”

“Have you?” Seamus raised his eyebrows, but Harry went on. “Like, have you ever explicitly told him or shown him that you like him as more than a friend?” He had a feeling he could learn something himself from what he was saying, but he’d never particularly enjoyed taking his own advice.

Shaking his head, Seamus said, “I wouldn’t want to risk losing him.” Harry understood, he’d watched the situation play out between Hermione and Ron.

“Look,” Harry sighed, “I can’t speak for Dean, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he did like you back. And you’re a Gryffindor mate, be brave,” he added, darting out the way as Seamus went to shove him.

“Then why haven’t you made a move on Malfoy, oh brave Gryffindor?”

“I kinda have,” Harry shrugged, grinning as Seamus’s brows shot up. “Like, I’ve dropped hints, told him I liked boys. However, Draco is a confusing idiot.”

Seamus laughed. “Can’t say I disagree with that, but sometimes the confusing idiots are the ones who are worth it.” Seamus flung an arm around Harry’s shoulder as they walked into the Burrow, and Harry was pretty sure that if Draco ever got his head out of his arse, he would certainly be worth it.

* * *

 

All hopes of a birthday lie-in were dashed the next morning when Harry woke to the chanting of Happy Birthday from the Burrow regulars and the Weasley family. The only thing that brought him any joy was that Ron was not impressed and responded by grunting loudly and tugging his pillow back over his head. Harry, however, was aware that it would be rude for him to do the same.

“Get up, birthday boy,” Ginny laughed, jumping onto his shitty little airbed and wrestling the covers off of him. He let out a groan and pulled her into his arms without thinking about it, rolling her underneath him in an attempt to shut her up. As he gazed down into Ginny’s surprised face and blinking brown eyes, he realised what he’d done. He scrambled off her with a forced grin, desperate to ignore the hopeful glint in Molly’s eyes that they were getting back together.

Arthur cleared his throat. “Birthday breakfast time?” Everyone nodded eagerly and scurried out of the room, leaving Harry, Ron, and Hermione alone.

“Birthday, mate,” Ron grumbled, dropping his head down into Hermione’s lap, who ran her dark hands through his red hair. Harry snorted and fumbled around for his glasses, shoving them onto his face and tucking his knees up under his chin.

A whole day dedicated to celebrating just him, just what Harry wanted. Birthdays had never mattered to him: the Dursleys had ensured this. He got enough attention as it was, and he just wanted it all to go away.

“Do you want to open our presents now?” Hermione said with a soft smile, climbing off the bed and digging under a pile of Ron’s clothes. She emerged with a neatly wrapped package.

He took it from her with a grin. Ron slowly pushed himself up to watch.

“Thank you,” Harry smiled, unwrapping a box of chocolates, Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans, and finally a notebook. It was Gryffindor red with golden letters reading ‘Property of Harry J. Potter’ and had golden lock on it. Harry shot Ron a desperate look. He knew that Ron often caved to Hermione’s demands, but surely there was no way he’d let her buy Harry another homework planner? He knew that Hermione was still holding out hope that he’d return to Hogwarts, but Ron knew that there was no hope in hell of that —  and also that one obnoxious homework planner was enough for a lifetime. Ron just smiled and told him to open it.

Harry gazed at the lock. “There’s no key?” He felt stupid, and Hermione’s Cheshire Cat grin only grew.

“Press your thumb to the lock. It’ll then open only to your magic,” Hermione gushed. Harry sent Ron another confused look but did as she said. A tingling sensation ran through him, and he felt his magic hum as it pulsed into the notebook. The book fell open in his lap to July 31 with a note scrawled onto it saying, ‘Birthday at the Burrow’ and tomorrow’s date underneath it read, ‘Birthday Celebration with Slytherins’. “It’s linked with you, so now all you have to do is hold down the lock; any thoughts go into the notes section behind the calendar that stores all events, etcetera. We thought it might be useful for Auror training.”

Harry flicked to the back of the notebook, which sure enough, had a notes section. Thumb pressing down on the lock, he watched the words ‘I have the best friends’ scrawl across the page. It wasn’t just the amazing gift; hearing her say that she accepted and understood that he couldn’t go back to Hogwarts meant the world. Hermione let out a sob and threw herself off the bed and into his arms.

“I’m so happy you’re here, Harry,” she whispered, pressing her face into the crook of his neck.

Harry bit his lip and wrapped his arms around her. He knew what she meant. It was a miracle that he was here: he’d died. They’d all fought in a war, and everything had changed since last year. He’d had a purpose then. Now his only real purpose was saving Draco. He didn’t know what he’d do without the life debt to complete.

Ron moved off the bed and took Harry’s hand in his, gifting him with a soft smile. “Happy birthday, mate,” was all Ron said, and it was all Ron needed to say. They stayed like that until Molly started yelling up the stairs about how the food was getting cold. Then they broke apart and headed downstairs so the party could begin.

The rest of Harry’s birthday went as well as he could have hoped. The _Prophet had_ declared it to be “Harry Potter Day,” and he received what felt like a million pieces of fan mail and presents that Molly wouldn’t let him touch in case they were dosed with some sort of love potion or spell. George got a firm bollocking about the love potions he sold at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes for that.

The Chocolate Frog company sent Harry an entire box of chocolate frogs containing his card, which it was releasing today. Harry’s picture was brooding, and Ginny and Seamus pretended to swoon before bursting into hysterics and threatening to cover the house with the cards. Harry threatened to burn them all.

Harry also received a few bits and pieces from members of Dumbledore’s Army: handy tricks from George; a book of Quidditch tricks from Ginny; a new knitted jumper with a lightning bolt on it from Molly and Arthur, as well as the Auror’s Handbook; a handmade card from Teddy, and a large box of inedible toffee from Hagrid.

Molly had prepared an amazing lunch, and everyone Harry would have wanted was there —  at least everyone who was alive. He pushed that thought aside, trying to be positive; there was no need to dwell on ghosts. Instead he let himself get swept up in a conversation between Andromeda and Hermione about magical creatures’ rights.

“More fan mail!” George shouted, as a dainty owl swept over the Burrow before landing on Harry’s shoulder and pecking him hard. He scowled at it in recognition. Pansy’s owl had to be the most demanding owl in existence; again, he wasn’t surprised.

Harry snatched the package from the owl’s beak earning himself another hard peck for his effort.  A bottle and a folded-up copy of the _Prophet_ landed in his lap.

“Good stuff this is, Harry,” Hagrid said, eyes widening at the bottle of firewhiskey. Harry grinned and opened the package, pulling out three different letters. He started with the shortest one first.

_Dear Mr Potter,_

_Please enjoy this token of our gratitude for everything you have done for Draco, and we wish you a happy birthday._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy_

The letter was ripped out of his hand by Seamus and passed down the table to laughs and jeers. Harry had a feeling Lucius Malfoy had had absolutely nothing to do with this letter, but Harry appreciated it anyway.

He opened the next one, recognising Pansy’s writing:

_Dearest Potty,_

_Happy birthday. Enjoy the booze and be ready for round two tomorrow night. Bring your best Gryffindors but be prepared to lose!!_

_Pansy and Blaise_

Which meant the final letter had to belong to Draco:

_Harry,_

_I hope you are currently enjoying celebrating ‘Harry Potter Day.’ I know I certainly am. I’ve created a shrine and am settling down to worship as I write this. However, all jokes aside, I have never laughed as much in my life. What a blessing the_ Prophet _truly is. I’ve attached a copy just so you can read it. An entire edition dedicated to you! My personal favourite article was the one discussing your best brooding looks. And people say journalism is dead. (Pansy said to tell you her favourite was look number eight.) Anyway- (Sorry, Blaise wants you to stop brooding as it’s his trademark —  things I’m sure they could have mentioned_ in their own letter!! _) Anyway, happy birthday Harry. I hope it’s good, and your head doesn’t get swell too large from all your fans. I suppose I’ll find out tomorrow whether or not you fit through the Manor door. I look forward to seeing you._

_Best wishes,_

_Draco._

_P.S. The obvious winner of the brooding looks was, in fact, number three._

_P.P.S. Pansy says she told the bird to peck you as a present._

_P.P.P.S. I told it to peck you for me as well._

Harry rolled his eyes but was unable to keep the dopey smile off his face as he reread Draco’s letter. He could hear the idiot’s voice in his head as he read it, and the spikey scrawl made his heart swell. He folded up the letter and tucked it in his pocket as Seamus made a reach for it. This one was personal.

With much glee Draco’s copy of the _Prophet_ was passed around, and  they all took delight in doing dramatic readings of some of the most ridiculous things that had been written about Harry. The only thing he cared about was seeing the photo Draco had liked, and he blushed at the sight of it. He didn’t know when it had been taken, but he was leaning against the wall scowling out at the crowd as if daring someone to come up to him.

The party began to die out as the sun finally started to set in the sky, and people who weren’t staying the night made their excuses to leave. Harry lounged back on the grass, taking a long sip of the firewhiskey. Harry’s birthday had been better than he’d anticipated. Nothing too over the top, just all of his friends having a good time. It was what he wanted, what he needed.

“Can I speak to you, Harry?”

He glanced up to see Neville standing there biting his lip, his shoulders hunched. He looked like first-year Neville, not snake-killer Neville.

“Course,” Harry said, pushing himself up and offering Neville the bottle of firewhiskey. Hagrid was right, no matter what you said about the Malfoys, you couldn’t fault their taste in booze. It was way better than the cheap stuff that he usually drank, and he was hoping tomorrow night’s drinks would involve a lot more of this stuff.

Neville sat down and took the bottle, but he didn’t take a sip. He just examined it, eyes narrowed and hard. “I can’t come with you to the Manor tomorrow.”

“I know, I’d never ask or expect you to,” Harry said. Discussing Malfoy with Neville was dangerous territory, territory that Harry didn’t feel comfortable approaching yet. Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Luna, Seamus, and Dean had all agreed to have drinks at the Manor tomorrow, despite the fact that over half of the group had been held captive there. Luna wanted to see Draco again, Seamus was curious about Harry’s crush, and Ginny and Dean just said they were going for the expensive booze. Harry knew it was more than that; they were making an effort for him despite the nightmares the Manor held.

Neville nodded, “I know you wouldn’t,” he sighed, “and I don’t think I really want Malfoy to get the Kiss… I don’t know…” Harry didn’t say anything. He didn’t think Neville wanted him to. “I can’t just forgive him, for what he stood for, for how he treated us. Sometimes I think he should just be thrown away for life as punishment for all the pain he caused, because I can’t see how there can be anything good in him.” Harry wanted to protest that there was good in Draco, he saw it every time Draco smiled and his eyes warmed to silver, but it wasn’t Harry’s place. “And I don’t want to forgive him. I don’t want to let go of that anger, because when it’s gone, what do I have left?” Neville’s words became choked, and he wiped his nose on his sleeve. “I mean, it’s Malfoy, Harry! How can you like him? You of all people should understand!”

Swallowing heavily, Harry pulled his knees up to his chest. “Dunno Nev, but I do, I like him. I don’t just think he’s fit, I really like him,” he smiled ruefully. “Wish I didn’t, as he’s a right git, but he’s changing, he’s not the same as he was. He’s better.” Every dumb smile, joke, and comment Draco had made recently ran through Harry’s head and he shrugged. He knew he couldn’t give Neville the answer he wanted.

“I wish you didn’t like him too,” Neville mumbled, finally taking a long swig of the firewhiskey. “Because I want them to suffer for what they did but-” he passed Harry back the bottle and stood up, face weary. “I’m sorry,” Neville said, shoving his hands in his pockets and walking away.

Harry watched him go and let the firewhiskey burn down the back of his throat. He did understand where Neville was coming from. Draco’s family had been a part of the group that tortured his parents to insanity. Draco had bullied Neville relentlessly for his entire Hogwarts career. Draco had joined the Death Eaters. Draco Malfoy was self-serving; he was cruel, malicious, and cowardly, brimming with privilege and excessive pride. However, Draco Malfoy was also loyal; he was smart, funny, and dynamic. He was willing to swallow that pride for a chance for the redemption he craved.

Harry very much understood where Neville was coming from; however, having seen the other side of Draco Malfoy, Harry couldn’t and wouldn’t walk away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always kudos and comments are rays of sunshine <3


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *winky face*  
> enjoy!!

Harry had scarcely raised his hand to knock on the door when it was flung open to reveal a grinning Pansy Parkinson, who was dressed in an almost non-existent red dress with matching lips. He felt Ginny tense beside him, but no one said anything as Pansy stared at them all appraisingly.

“You clean up a lot better than I thought,” Pansy said. Harry shot her a look, and she smirked at him. Her rather upfront and rude letter had informed them to be at the Manor at eight o’clock on the dot to meet with the Ministry officials and that they should not look like they’d been raised in a barn. Ron and Ginny had bristled at the slight but hadn’t pressed the issue. It was just Pansy being herself.

“How did you manage to get the Ministry to allow so many of us in?” Ginny questioned.

Pansy smiled, a terrifying sight. “We did a whole song and dance about the Chosen One’s wishes,” Harry rolled his eyes. “I understand why you all befriended Potty now. Dropping his name makes life so much easier.” Harry flipped her off, but she just laughed.

Looking up at the Manor, Luna let out a small sigh, blue eyes wide. “It’s less gloomy-looking than it was last time I was here.” Harry supposed it wouldn’t be hard to be less gloomy, seeing as how Luna had spent most of her time in the dungeons during her previous “visit.”

Pansy’s mouth twitched, the only tell of her guilt, and she stepped back waving an arm. “Well, do come in. We’re not going to get drunk standing on the porch making small talk.” Harry was pretty sure Luna’s statement had been as far from small talk as possible, but Hermione saved them all from having to say anything else by stepping forward and following Pansy into the Manor, happily chatting away.

Ginny gripped Luna’s hand tightly as they entered, and Harry grinned, chuckling as Ginny stuck up her middle finger at him.

“Do you ever get used to not having magic?” Seamus asked, giving his wand one final experimental wave before tucking it away, discomfort clear from his lack of a smile.

Dean grimaced, “Fucking horrible.”

“It gets easier,” Harry said, though he understood exactly where they were coming from. The first few times he’d entered the Manor and had his magic sucked out, it was like he’d forgotten how to breathe. “Just try not to think about it.”

“Easier said than done,” Dean grumbled, and Harry noticed the concerned look Seamus shot him. He felt a bit stupid now for not realising that Seamus was clearly arse over tit for Dean: it was written over his face. Harry squeezed Dean’s shoulder. He hadn’t forgotten that Dean had been kept in these dungeons too, and the fact Harry’s friend had come here again was no small feat.

“You died for us Harry, the least we can do is help you get laid on your birthday,” Seamus had joked on the way over to ease the tension. Harry had laughed. He didn’t tell them that dying for them had been easy, it was the coming back that had hurt.

They followed Pansy through the Manor, everyone jumping at the slightest noise, no doubt in fear that Narcissa or Lucius would appear. The ghosts of the Manor. Harry couldn’t help but snort at the thought of Narcissa and Lucius being reduced to ghosts in their own home. He supposed they’d already become prisoners, so the insult wouldn’t sting too much. He wondered how on earth they’d managed to convince Lucius to allow so many Gryffindors into the Manor. He imagined the wizard was locked away in his office seething. Lucius: 0, Narcissa and Draco: 1.

The drawing room (or whatever the Malfoys declared it, Harry wasn’t a hundred percent sure) had been transformed. In the daylight, it was all wide-open windows and white thin curtains without the hint of shadows. However, now the same room was cast in warm shadows from the slowly reclining sun. Fairy lights flickered across the ceiling, and gold and silver streamers hung delicately. The floor now held a few large bean bags with bottles of firewhiskey and other expensive drinks awaiting them on the counters.

Draco, Goyle, and Zabini were reclining on the sofa, there was a stiffness to their posture but no flicker of discomfort on their composed features. A feeling of glee flowed through Harry upon noticing there was no Theodore Nott in attendance. Thank Merlin for birthday miracles.

“Not bad,” Ginny whistled, clearly irritated to have to praise the Slytherins. Pansy shot her a smug smile.

“There’s not much else to do, locked up here every day,” Draco drawled, and Harry could feel the ice in the boy’s tone. There was a challenge in his voice, in the angle of his chin, and in his narrowed eyes. Zabini met Harry’s eyes with a calculating look, daring him, daring them all to insult his friend.

Harry could have kissed Ron when he let out a loud laugh. “Suppose it was time you finally made yourself useful, Malfoy.”

Draco’s expression flickered before a half-smile crossed his lips. “Perhaps decorating is my calling.” He held out a bottle of firewhiskey to Ron, who took it with a nod of thanks. “Well, are you all going to stand there gawking all day, or are you going to show us those supposedly legendary Gryffindor drinking skills I’ve heard so much about.” Harry rolled his eyes and stepped forward, grabbing his own bottle of drink. Draco was a chippy bitch when he wanted to be, but his words did the trick. They all trudged forward desperate to drink as much as possible.

What the Slytherins lacked in numbers against the Gryffindors, they made up for with the home turf advantage, a flair for the dramatic, and the ability to drink faster than anyone Harry had ever seen. He wondered if he would have really done well in Slytherin had he seen this side of them. He doubted it; it appeared they’d needed the War to have their heads shrunk back down to earth.

Harry was shocked when he saw Zabini open another bottle of booze, seemingly moments after starting a previous one. “As Draco said, there’s not much to do here,” Zabini smirked.

“Did you just make a joke?” Harry asked, taking a sip of his own drink.

Zabini’s cold mouth curled up into what Harry presumed was meant to be a smile. “You’ll find I’m extremely funny, Potty,” he said, toasting Harry with his bottle before wandering off to where Luna and Goyle were talking. Goyle looked like he couldn’t believe he was really having a conversation with Luna Lovegood, and Harry felt a stab of pity for the other boy. He didn’t know what Luna was saying, but sometimes she did chat some shit. Harry loved her for it.

Harry wasn’t going to fight Zabini about whether or not he had a sense of humour, so he let him go. Harry looked around the room and saw that the tension was melting along with the setting sun and the never-ending supply of alcohol. He could feel the drink starting to cast that warm buzz through him, and he welcomed it. His eyes finally fell on Draco who was sat rigidly on the sofa, engaged with Dean and Seamus in a particularly polite conversation about Quidditch teams.

“You’re both wrong,” he heard Dean sigh, a tightness in his eyes as he spoke to Draco, but Harry spotted Seamus’s fingers ghosting across the other boy’s arm and saw how Dean relaxed at the touch.

Seamus’s laugh was low and easy. “Dean doesn’t understand. He still thinks football’s just as important as Quidditch,” Seamus huffed. The words appeared to catch in his throat, and the smile fell from his face as he realised who he had said it to. Harry could feel the buzzing threat if Draco said anything about Dean’s blood status.

“What’s football?” Draco asked, his jaw clenching, responding to Seamus’s unspoken threat.

Harry darted over and plopped down on the sofa beside Draco, throwing an arm around his shoulder. “Muggle sport,” he explained, “we haven’t got to sport in our muggle lessons yet.” His fingers traced idle patterns across Draco’s neck, and bit by bit he sensed Draco’s urge to bite fading away. Harry didn’t stop.

“I see,” Draco said, posture still rigid, “I’m presuming it doesn’t involve brooms?”

Dean glanced at Harry asking if there was a jibe in that, and Harry shook his head softly: Draco just was that clueless.

“Nah, they run about. There’s only one ball as well,” Dean said.

“One ball?” Draco spluttered.

Harry laughed, relishing the warmth of Draco’s body against his.

“It’s basically they try and kick a quaffle into a goal,” Seamus explained.

“One goal?” Draco questioned dropping his head onto Harry’s shoulder, “I will never understand muggles, Harry, we ought to give up now.”

Harry laughed again and Dean when on to explain the rules of football to an outraged Draco, there was no sharpness in the conversation. When Seamus and Dean excused themselves to get another drink, they both sent Harry understanding nods. This wasn’t the same boy who had bullied them all relentlessly through school. Draco was trying to change. His growth in the last month alone was phenomenal.

“Look at you, being nice to Gryffindors,” Harry said, leaning closer to Draco, who scowled at him.

“I know, it’s disgusting. I’m ashamed of myself,” Draco sighed, “I’m pretty sure it goes against everything I stood for as a child.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” the fake look of self-disappointment on Draco’s face failed to hide his smile.

Harry chuckled, opening his mouth to retort, when he leaned in closer, something catching his eyes. Without thinking he ran his hands through Draco’s hair: the white strands still fell long on top, falling about his cheekbones, but underneath it was now shaved short. Harry wasn’t sure how he’d not noticed it all night.

Draco’s breath hitched, and Harry became aware of the intimacy of the action. His throat went dry. “You’ve had a haircut?” he asked.

Scowling, Draco rolled his eyes. “10 points to Gryffindor, congratulations on some keen powers of observations, Potter. I now understand why they can’t wait to make you an auror.”

“When? How?” Harry asked, having to refrain from reaching up and dragging his hands through Draco’s hair again. It looked good, less pointy, less like Lucius. It made Draco’s cheekbones sharper, accentuating the Black haughty elegance. Harry loved it.

A splotchy red colour appeared on Draco’s cheeks. “How? You really are an idiot. Obviously someone cut it.” Harry raised his eyebrows, Draco was concealing something. “Fine, if you must know, Granger escorted us to London the other day for a day out, and I thought why not.”

Hermione had taken them to London and not said anything about it? He frowned, but knew not to push it. He was enjoying this moment too much to ruin it.

Harry buried his questions and nodded, reaching up and running his hand over the short white hair. “Suits you.” That delightful red colour spread further over Draco’s face.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, not meeting Harry’s eyes, but he didn’t move away either. They stayed there chatting about stupid things, drinking until Pansy declared that everyone was drunk enough to get to the interesting bit. It was time for the games to begin.

* * *

Harry was learning that Pansy was not one to dip her toes in at the shallow end. She was much more of a dive-straight-off-the-cliff-into-possibly-shark-filled-waters kind of girl, which he had to respect because he was the same way. With this mentality, Harry was utterly unsurprised that Pansy decided ‘Never Have I Ever’ was the perfect drinking game to start with. Hermione put up a weak protest before Ginny and Pansy shot her down. The flash of teeth that Ginny shot Pansy was filled with the delight of a challenge and not the promise of destruction. Pansy just bared her teeth back.

Much to his disappointment, Harry had ended up sitting between Ron and Luna, and he couldn’t stop his eyes from wandering across the circle to where Draco was lounging between Pansy and Hermione. Harry couldn’t get over how much he liked Draco’s new hairstyle. Harry wanted to spend all night running his hands through it —  amongst other things.

The game started out relatively tame, with a couple of rounds of stupid things they’d perhaps got up to at Hogwarts, until Pansy decided to mix things up a bit.

“Never have I ever shagged anyone in this room,” she said with a devious smile, chinking her bottle against Draco’s before both of them took a sip. Harry couldn’t stop the spike of jealousy going through him even as he sipped his own drink. He didn’t relish the thought of Draco and Pansy together. Pansy then leaned over and chinked Zabini’s bottle, much to the amusement of everyone in the room.

“Parkinson, you whore,” Ginny laughed with no heat in her voice as she winked at Harry and Dean before taking a long sip of her own drink. Harry and Dean both took a sip avoiding Ron’s glare; both their relationships with him rested on the fact that Ron didn’t have to acknowledge they’d fucked his younger sister.

Pansy grinned, “Takes one to know one.”

“That’s my sister!” Ron started with an indignant shout.

“Hush Weasley and drink, unless you and Hermione are doing something disgustingly Gryffindor like waiting for marriage,” Pansy sighed, causing Ron to flush and take a sip. Ginny shot Pansy a grin, and Harry was filled with a sense of dread of the idea of _that_ friendship.

“You’d think waiting for sex until marriage would be a Slytherin thing, with all their emphasis on tradition,” Hermione said.

Draco scoffed. “No, not finding out if your partner is good in bed before marriage just screams a lack of self-preservation that only Gryffindor’s and their desire for chivalry could muster up.”

“Anyway, aren’t we Slytherins meant be to deviants?” Zabini drawled, as he winked at Draco and drank. Draco blushed and drank as well and Harry couldn’t stop staring them. Not that he’d ever particularly put much thought into Draco’s sex life at Hogwarts but he’d presumed the git spent too much time plotting to be bumping uglies with all of Slytherin. Clearly, he was wrong.

Ginny hummed. “I Suppose you are the ones with the incest fetish,” she said with an innocent smile on her face. The Gryffindors burst out laughing at the outrage on the Slytherins’ faces.

“Don’t know what you’re laughing about She-Weasel, you’re a pure-blood too,” Draco leered, dodging out of the way of the cushion she sent his way. Harry sent him a stern look for his use of the nickname ‘She-Weasel,’ but the warm, easy smile Draco sent back melted his insides and rendered his glare pointless.

The game progressed from there with everyone gradually getting more and more drunk as the questions became more and more provocative, as well as sometimes simply ridiculous.

At one point, Draco had wrapped his pink lips around the bottle, holding Harry’s eyes the entire time as his Adam’s apple bobbed, and Harry had thought he was going to explode. He’d received a particularly hard elbow to the ribs from Ron for that one.

“Never have I ever fancied Harry Potter,” Seamus said, drawing Harry from his slightly perverse Draco fantasies and causing him to splutter. “Sorry mate, you’re just not my type.”

Ginny laughed and held up the bottle, “Guilty.” He grinned at her before forgetting how to breathe when Hermione took an awkward sip from her drink, causing Ron to squawk indignantly.

“What?” Ron demanded, folding his arms over his chest.

“Well, first year Harry was so nice and-” Hermione trailed off blushing.

Pansy sighed, “For Merlin’s sake Weasley, we’ve all had a bit of a crush on Potter at one point.” Harry’s eyes bulged, and he stared at Pansy as if she’d grown a second head. Actually, he would have been less shocked if she’d grown a second head than hearing that confession. “Mine was sixth year about the time the whole Chosen One thing came out. You’d gotten less—” she waved her hand at him, a slight wrinkle to her brow, “how did Draco always describe him, Blaise?”

“Specky and scrawny,” Zabini offered, and she nodded with satisfaction.

Harry, who had been so shocked by this entire turn of events, swung his head around at the mention of Draco’s name to see him sitting there perfectly still, fingers tapping away at his bottle. “What?” Draco snapped, clearly sensing everyone’s eyes on him. “Yes, I am stung by Pansy’s betrayal, but I hardly see why you all find my reaction so fascinating.”

Draco Malfoy was many things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. Harry knew Draco knew that that wasn’t why everyone was staring at him. However, Harry also knew he wasn’t getting the reaction he wanted out of Draco, not in a situation like this. So Harry did the only thing he could think of: he evened the playing field.

“Never have I ever fancied Draco Malfoy,” he blurted out, biting down on his lip hard as Draco’s grey eyes darted to his.

Pansy sighed and took a sip of her drink. “Here we fucking go,” Harry heard her mutter, and here they fucking went indeed. He caught her eyes, and they flashed in warning, but she didn’t move to stop him. He lifted his drink to his lips and took a sip, refusing to break eye contact with Draco while he did so.

Draco swallowed heavily, and his face shuttered. “I’ve got to-” was all he said before he stormed out of the room, tripping over his long legs as he went.

Harry flew to his feet and was scrambling out of the room after him, ignoring Pansy’s sighs and Ron’s groans. Let them say what they wanted; this was between him and Draco. With the firewhiskey burning through him, Harry knew that he couldn’t waste the opportunity or let it pass. Even if Draco laughed in his face, at least Harry would be able to say he tried. Then at least he could move on and not be forced to always wonder _what if_.

“Draco!” Harry called, watching that glowing white head disappear around the corner. He broke into a jog. “Don’t walk away from me!” He reached out and grabbed Draco’s arm, spinning him around. “Draco,” Harry’s voice softened as he stared into the other boy’s blank face. Harry was putting himself out on the line and he needed more, he needed Draco to give him something back.

“Yes, Potter?” The icy tone was back, and Harry felt a shiver run through his body. “Come to try and humiliate me further?”

Harry wrinkled his nose, “Humiliate you?”

“Yes, with your jokes about fancying me,” Draco said, waving his hands dramatically. His cold expression faltered, allowing Harry to see the vulnerability underneath.

The idiot thought Harry was messing with him? How could he think that? “They’re not jokes.” Had he not been obvious enough? He was pretty sure he hadn’t been subtle.

“Of course they are,” Draco said, fists clenching at his side. “I mean you’re you and I’m me. We hate each other. Always have and always will.” Now that the mask had cracked, Harry could see the fear and paranoia swirling below the surface —  and just maybe a shimmer of hope.

“I am me and you are you,” Harry agreed, stepping closer to Draco, who didn’t move away. “It doesn’t make any sense to me either but I- it feels right.” Harry sighed. he’d never been very good at finding the right words yin moments like this. His mouth felt dry and his tongue heavy, so he reached up and dragged his knuckles across Draco’s sharp cheekbone, trying to put everything he felt into that one action.

Harry could feel Draco’s warm breath on his face as he stared into those silver eyes. “Scared, Malfoy?” Harry’s heart was pounding.

“You wish,” Draco replied, and then Harry wasn’t sure who made the first move, but they were kissing. It was wet and desperate with their hands scrabbling. Harry wanted to feel every part of Draco’s body, but he settled for tangling his hands in that white hair he’d been admiring all night. Draco’s own hands were knotted in Harry’s shirt, tugging him closer, pulling them together until there was no space between them.

Draco’s mouth tasted like firewhiskey, and Harry thought it was the best thing ever. When he’d kissed Ginny, it had been satisfying for the moment, but when he pulled away it was gone. This, however, this was everything and more. The world could have imploded in that second and Harry wouldn’t have cared as Draco’s needy mouth was kissing him with everything it had. This was how Harry wanted to go. It wasn’t perfect, it was better: it was them.

The kiss ended just as abruptly as it started, with Draco staggering back as if burnt. His lips were wet and swollen, and his chest heaved, and fuck, did Harry want to kiss him again.

He licked his lips and waited for Draco to speak. This was going to be the make or break of it all.

“We shouldn’t have done that,” Draco said, not meeting Harry’s eyes.

Harry shrugged, “Maybe not, but I’d been wanting to do that for a while.”

A choked laugh escaped Draco’s mouth as he smoothed out his hair. “You’re really fucking something, you know.” Harry shrugged again and smirked slightly. “You can’t go around just kissing people willy-nilly… My Father-”

Harry held up his hand, “If you say ‘my father will hear about this’, I swear to Merlin, I’m out,” he was only partially joking, but Draco shot him a look like he was the world’s largest idiot. It was a familiar look and calmed Harry’s beating heart.

“Do you think I would tell my father that I like kissing boys?” he said, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “Can you imagine how that would go? Hello Father, I, your sole son and heir, have decided to disregard all your lessons on the importance of finding a suitable wife and producing an heir to continue the Malfoy lineage because it turns out I like boys!” He threw his hands up in the air. “As if he’d just shake my hand and tell me to follow my heart! So no, Harry, my father will not be hearing about this.”

“Your father’s a bit of a dick,” Harry said before he could stop himself, and bit his lip when Draco gave him a warning look. Discussing Lucius Malfoy was never led to a good conversation between the two of them. “However, since I most certainly will not be telling your father about this, I don’t see why he’s relevant.”

“How can even you, with your astounding lack of observation skills, not see how he’s relevant?”

“Because this is about me and you,” Harry said, reaching up and cupping Draco’s face in his hands. He felt Draco soften with his touch. “And I want to kiss you again. May I?” Draco’s eyes fluttered shut, his cheeks pink, and he nodded.

It was all the confirmation Harry needed. This time when he tilted his head and leaned in, the kiss was slow and warm, tender as they explored each other’s mouths and learnt the shape of each other’s lips. Draco’s hands were on Harry’s hips, in his hair, burning across his chest, roaming hungrily. All of this stimulation combined with the alcohol buzzing through his veins left Harry’s senses scorched.

Eventually they drew apart and Harry wanted to freeze time right here, because he wasn’t sure he’d ever see that softness on Draco’s face again. It was beautiful. Draco Malfoy was beautiful.

“You’re grinning like a lunatic, Potter, it’s terrifying,” Draco said. Whatever effect he’d intended to have was ruined by his soft expression.

Harry just leaned in and pressed another short and sweet kiss to Draco’s mouth before withdrawing. “Shut up.”

Draco pouted but entwined his fingers with Harry’s and suddenly dragged him along the corridor. Harry tried to ask what they were doing, since the party was clearly back the other way, but Draco hushed him. Harry shut up willingly when he realised they were heading in the direction of Draco’s bedroom.

“Shut your eyes,” Draco commanded when they were inside. Harry shot him an incredulous look but did as he was told. He could hear Draco moving about the room before suddenly something was thrust into his hands.

Harry tried to squeeze it and then rattled it next to his ear, earning himself a sigh from Draco.

“Well, open your eyes,” Draco snapped. Harry opened his eyes and noticed Draco was chewing on his lip, cheeks red again. He loved that Draco’s pale skin meant nothing could be kept hidden. He looked down at the wrapped package in his hands and frowned for a moment before realising what it meant.

“You got me a birthday present,” he grinned.

Draco’s blush grew, and he tilted his chin up. “Well yes, that is what is polite and-” Harry cut him off by kissing him again, before ripping off the green wrapping paper. “I was going to get you a broom at first, but I thought that seemed bit impersonal, and then I thought perhaps a muggle present but I didn’t know enough about muggles and all of Granger’s suggestions didn’t seem right, and so I settled on this.”

“You went shopping with Hermione to get me a birthday present?” Harry asked. Draco Malfoy was something else.

“Well, I can’t leave the Manor without one of you lot, and I certainly wasn’t going to do it with Weasel.” Harry ignored Draco’s tone; he knew it was just a defence mechanism at this point.

He stared down at the box in his hands in disbelief. The gold writing on the black box read ‘Personalised Snitches,’ and when he opened it up he wasn’t let down. They were beautiful, all gold but one with Gryffindor-red swirls. Another had tiny broomsticks darting across it, and a third was decorated with streaking silver lightning bolts.

“They’ll be in tune with your magic as long as you’re the first to touch them, once you get outside the Manor grounds, of course. It means that you can play Seekers games whenever you want, and I thought they may work well for those Weasley Quidditch matches you’ve told me about. Though you’d have the unfair advantage of being able to summon the snitch with a code word of your choice, and being a Gryffindor you may not like that-” With a grin Harry realised that Draco was rambling, ,  and so Harry  fisted his hand in the other boy’s shirt and pulled him in for a hard kiss, laughing at Draco’s squawk of surprise. “Heathen,” Draco muttered against Harry’s lips, and he nodded.

Eventually he pulled back from the kiss, enjoying Draco’s huff of protest. “It’s amazing, I love it,” Harry promised, relishing the warmth in Draco’s eyes and the satisfaction in his smile.

“You sure?”

“Let me show you how sure I am,” Harry smirked, putting the snitches down and herding Draco towards the bed before reclaiming his lips in another mind-blowing kiss. 

They re-joined the rest of the party an hour later, stickier and with flushed cheeks, but Harry only welcomed the jeers. He shot Draco a soppy smile before letting Ron and Hermione drag him away to play some drunken card game.

He saw Pansy and Zabini corner Draco, and Harry wondered what Draco would tell them. Would Draco confess that fuelled by the alcohol in their blood, they’d rutted against each other like stupid school children until they both came in their pants, gasping into each other’s mouths? He guessed so from the approving leers Pansy and Zabini gave him for the rest of the night.

He’d wanted to thread his fingers through Draco’s hair again, but Harry caught him sat in the corner with Goyle, heads bowed together, faces solemn, and he didn’t feel it was his place to interrupt. Harry speculated whether their dynamic didn’t work as well anymore since Crabble had died, and so Zabini and Pansy had stepped up. Harry wondered if he’d ever understand the intricacies of the Slytherins.

Ron actively refused to hear any details discussed in his proximity. When Ginny gleefully announced that Harry had a large hickey on his neck, Ron scowled and warned that if he ever had to see Harry kissing the ferret, he would kill them both.

By the time they all headed off to bed Harry had received multiple exasperated jabs from Ron about making bedroom eyes at Draco. In fact, his best friend had actively shoved him towards Draco’s room, saying he wanted them as far from him as possible.

“It’s his blessing,” Harry laughed when they were lying in bed, causing Draco to sigh dramatically about bloody Gryffindors.

Draco didn’t manage to badmouth Gryffindors for too long, since Harry was determined to make him eat his words. And judging from the look in Draco’s eyes and the sounds he made as Harry’s dark hands ran along his pale body, Harry succeeded.

* * *

 

The next morning Harry’s mouth felt like he’d swallowed a bucket of sawdust.  H rolled over, grabbing at the covers to keep the brightness and the promise of the day. If he admitted he was awake, then he had to face the consequences of last night. He didn’t know what Draco would do without alcohol flowing through his veins and softening him. He didn’t know if Draco would deny _them_.

Harry didn’t know what he wanted to do now that the sun was shining. He wanted to take it slow, explore whatever this was, the same way he’d explored Draco’s body last night. Well, as much as Draco had let him.  Draco had refused to take off his long-sleeved pyjama top, and Harry hadn’t protested too much. Everything with Draco was easier without the black stain on his arm. He knew it was a part of Draco, and Harry didn’t hate him for it, but the War was still too raw for it to be meaningless.

A gentle grunt sounded from beside Harry, and he rolled over to see Draco sprawled out, stretching his long limbs. He looked soft and pliant in the easy morning light, and Harry wanted to lean over and kiss him, relearn those thin, pale lips in the day without alcohol clouding his mind. Instead, Harry just curled his body up tighter. He felt Draco’s hand ghost across his back, and he let himself enjoy the sensation before Draco fully woke up and ruined the moment.

They looked good together Harry thought, light and dark. He was sure if the _Prophet_ ever caught wind of whatever this was, it would run with the metaphor, but Harry meant it literally. Draco’s too-pale skin against Harry’s brown. Draco did look considerably better than he had a month ago when they’d first met. His skin was now just pale, not grey, and his eyes weren’t ringed by black circles. He looked healthier, like he had hope. Hope suited Draco; like those rare genuine smiles, it softened his harsh features.

Harry rolled over and swallowed. The same could be said for sleep. It was impossible to try and merge Death Eater Draco with the boy next to him in bed. With his white hair spread about like a halo, Draco was almost angelic. Harry tried not to think about how gone he clearly was over Draco sodding Malfoy.

“Stop staring at me, it’s creepy,” Draco mumbled, grey eyes flickering open.

Harry sent him an abashed smile. “Sorry.”

Draco let out a small huff. “You don’t sound very sorry.”

“I’m not,” he said, shifting in his boxers. Without a cleaning charm, they were excruciatingly sticky.

Draco’s quick eyes caught the movement, and a fox’s smile curled at his lips. “Got a problem there?” Harry’s only problem before that smile had been the stickiness in his boxers, but now all his blood was rushing south to cause another one. He shifted again, and Draco’s smirk grew, which helped even less.

“You could say that,” Harry said, fingers curling around Draco’s arm as he moved in closer. Draco didn’t move away. “I do think we need to talk before-” Harry was cut off as Draco pressed a long, slim finger to his lips.

“I can think of much better uses for your mouth than talking.” What could Harry say about that?

He leaned in until he was a whisper away from Draco’s mouth. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes,” Draco said, closing the distance between them. Harry didn’t even have time to think of stupid things like morning breath as he got swept away in the warmth of Draco’s mouth again. Harry didn’t know what was going to happen between them now, but Draco had woken up still wanting him, and that was all that mattered in that moment. Also, it was hard to concentrate on anything with Draco’s sinful mouth attached to Harry’s neck.

“Potter, I must say that ginormous hickey on your neck is putting me off my breakfast,” Pansy sighed as she coated her croissant in chocolate spread.

Harry shrugged. “Not my fault,” he said through a mouthful of toast, earning disgusted looks from all the Slytherins and Hermione. Ron was too busy trying to look anywhere but at Harry’s neck.

“No manners,” Draco grumbled, though he too was avoiding Harry’s neck, and his cheeks were pink. He blushed so easily.

“I don’t think you’re allowed to lecture people on a lack of manners, Draco sweetie,” Pansy continued, ignoring Draco’s glower. “First of all, you ditch your guests to go rut against the birthday boy, and then you attack said birthday boy.” Ginny snickered and shared a devilish smile with Pansy. They were a terrifying pair.

Ron groaned, “I do not want to hear any discussions of my best mate and the Ferret rutting over breakfast.”

Harry gave him a thankful smile even if he was pretty sure Ron’s aversion was more due to his sensibilities than defence of Harry’s modesty.

Draco let out an outraged squawk about the nickname, but Harry nudged his foot before the harsh retort could fall off his tongue. He got a slightly too-hard kick back for his effort, but Draco didn’t insult Ron, so he counted it as an overall win.

Breakfast had been served with a large helping of hangover potion and easy laughs about the events of the night before. Ginny did a fantastic rendition of Zabini and Luna squabbling over whether or not some bizarre creature existed, twisting her face from Luna’s dreamy expression to Zabini’s cynical sneer as she mimicked their accents. Harry let out a loud laugh that caught in his throat at the feel of Draco’s slim fingers whispering across his thigh. The idiot was watching Ginny with narrowed eyes and a clenched jaw. Harry kicked him again.

“I’m sorry I missed it,” Harry said as Ginny bowed at the end of her story. Even Zabini’s mouth quirked into a smile.

It was only Draco who looked like he’d just swallowed a vomit-flavoured Bertie’s bean. Harry let his own hand wander over and squeeze Draco’s thigh under the table, to assure him that as funny as the story had been, Harry wasn’t really sorry he had missed it. Harry tried to communicate that he would have chosen to be  pressed up against Draco over most anything in that moment. Harry wasn’t sure if he’d succeeded in getting his message across, but there was certainly a looser set to Draco’s mouth.

After breakfast, Pansy and Zabini excused themselves, and the Gryffindors began making their excuses to leave. Harry hung back as they filed out the door.

“You not coming, mate?” Ron frowned, noticing Harry remained standing next to Draco on the porch.

“Might as well stay and give Draco his next muggle lesson,” Harry shrugged. It wasn’t a total lie. He’d been considering owling the Ministry and asking for permission to take Draco out the next day. Harry wanted to take Draco to a muggle supermarket and give him another cooking lesson. Harmless things.

“What a muggle sex lesson?” Seamus snickered.

Ron grinned, “Teach him about the condemns!” It appeared Ron could bear to make sex jokes, Harry noted with a sigh.

“It’s condoms,” Hermione corrected, unable to hide her smile.

Harry flipped them all off as they left, though he was enjoying Draco’s confused expression.

“What’s a condom?” Draco asked, all wide eyed and innocent. Harry leaned in, and Draco jumped back, eyes darting around. “Not here,” he hissed. Harry presumed “here” meant somewhere where Draco’s dickhead parents could see them, but he didn’t argue. Harry just followed Draco to the library before pushing him up against a dark, abandoned corner and kissing him breathless. Despite what his friends may say, there was no way Harry was giving Draco the muggle version of a sex talk —  not yet anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is!! I wanted to upload twice today to reward you for all your patience!!  
> The idiots finally kissed and whilst I cannot say its all smooth sailing from here at least you can take comfort in the fact that a lot more kissing will be occurring.  
> Pleaseee let me know if you enjoyed it and I really hope you did!!  
> Comments and kudos <3


	10. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry there was no update yesterday but here is the next chapter and it's a longer one!!  
> Please enjoy and if you fancy leaving comments and kudos well that's just the icing on top <3

“Harry, what the fuck is a Jaffa Cake?” Draco asked, nose wrinkled as he held the packet up for inspection.

In a shocking turn of events, an idea that Harry had thought would be great fun had turned into a test of patience as Draco poked, prodded, and scrutinised every item he picked up.

“It’s a kind of biscuit-”

“Then why is it called a cake?” Draco interrupted, looking at the packet as if it had personally wronged him.

Harry shrugged and snatched it off him, enjoying Draco’s outraged expression. “Fuck knows, but they taste good.” Harry supposed wizarding food did tend to do exactly what it said on the packet: a chocolate frog was literally a chocolate frog.

Smile growing, Harry chucked a bag of Wotsits at Draco, who caught them easily. “They named a food ‘Wotsits’, Harry!” There was a delightful look of exasperation on Draco’s face as he stared at the crisps. “Can you imagine my father’s face if I bring this into his house?”

Harry indeed could imagine Lucius Malfoy’s face when he found the muggle snacks in his house, and it brought him more pleasure than it probably should have.

Draco huffed but didn’t remove it from the trolley as he had done a couple of items he deemed far too muggle to even look at. “Muggles really do come up with some stupid names,” he said, giving the trolley a vicious shove as they continued down the snack aisle.

“I really don’t think you can talk.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Draco’s head spun around so fast Harry was surprised he didn’t get whiplash.

“Your parents named you Draco,” he said, darting out of the way as Draco chucked the bag of Wotsits at him. Seeker’s reflexes.

An old lady tutted loudly at them, and Harry scooped the bag up, giving her an apologetic look. She looked unimpressed and marched off, nose stuck up in the air

“It is a Black family tradition to be named after constellations!” Draco hissed, throwing his arms up in the air, clearly caring little for what old muggle women thought, especially after Harry insulted his name. “And after my mother herself was denied the privilege, she insisted upon on it.”

Harry hadn’t known that. “Is Narcissa not a constellation?”

Draco sighed and sent him the look that meant he thought Harry was being even more stupid than usual. “No, it is a flower.”

“Do you know why?” Harry asked, dropping the Wotsits back in the trolley. The fact Draco chose not to lob them at his head again proved to Harry that he wasn’t really mad about the name insult.

“Do I know why what?”

“Do you know why your mother wasn’t named after a constellation?”

“Oh,” Draco nodded, turning to inspect a packet of pink wafers. “My grandmother came from a French wizarding family where it was the tradition to name children after plants, and she insisted upon it, most likely not foreseeing the taunts she would inflict upon my mother at the hands of her sisters and cousins.”

Harry wondered if Sirius had been one of those cousins. He imagined he had. Despite Sirius’s lack of enthusiasm for anything related to the Black family, getting under someone like Narcissa’s skin probably brought him pleasure. Harry snickered at the thought of Sirius’s reaction to finding out that Harry was hooking up with a Malfoy —  and Sirius’s own cousin to boot. Harry imagined his godfather frog-marching him straight to St Mungo’s. Actually, Harry thought that most of the wizarding population would do that if they found out, which left Harry with a bitter taste in his mouth. It was no one’s business but his and Draco’s.

“Anyway, my name isn’t weird, it’s elegant,” Draco grumbled.

“Course it is,” Harry grinned, prodding Draco’s ribs and adoring the way he squirmed.

It had been a couple of days since they’d first kissed at Harry’s party. Despite Hermione’s not-so-subtle ribbing that Harry and Draco  should talk about what was going on between the two of them, Harry had made no move to do so, and he wasn’t going to either.

Harry had spent his entire life looking to the future and dreaming of the past, but this thing with Draco was all about the present. It was too new to put a name on, and they were both too afraid to name everything  going on underneath the surface. They had so much history, not to mention that they had yet to discuss the whole Draco-had-quite-clearly-been-banging-Theodore-Nott-only-a-week-ago elephant in the room. Harry didn’t even know if this was still going on.

“Git,” Draco sighed.

His muggle wardrobe was ever-expanding due to Pansy’s love of shopping, and fuck did he look good. Harry wanted to know how Draco Malfoy managed to make a simple brown leather jacket look quite so fantastic, or how he managed to move with an elegance and grace that Harry couldn’t achieve with a million years of trying.

“Harry, it’s too much, take me home!” Draco whined as he stared up at the rows and rows of muggle snacks. Harry bent his head forward with laughter, and when he looked back up, Draco’s whole face was alight. It took all of Harry’s strength to stop himself from pulling Draco into a soul-crushing kiss right there and then. Instead, he passed Draco a snack with a particularly odd name, and watched that cunning smile curl at Draco’s lips. Harry thought they were both imagining Lucius’s face when confronted with the muggle snack as Draco dropped it into the trolley with relish.

The woman at the check-out point probably wanted to have them murdered or committed as Draco painstakingly counted his muggle money, having to check with Harry a couple of times to make sure he’d got the conversion rate right. Harry doubted that Draco’s plummy sounding voice made him a lot of friends, and concluded that if it hadn’t been for Crabble and Goyle, Draco probably would have spent most of Hogwarts being beaten up. Harry didn’t begrudge Draco for being slow though as he had never seen anyone quite as taken with a conveyer belt as Draco. _Draco would get on quite well with Arthur Weasley if they put their differences aside_ , Harry thought with a smile.

“It’s a good thing you’re good-looking you know,” he murmured, leaning in close to Draco and shooting the lady at the till an apologetic smile.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Draco asked.

“Nothing,” Harry grinned, causing Draco to knock him with his shoulder as they walked back to the bus stop to return to the Manor.

* * *

 

“’ _Harry Potter and the Forbidden Friendship’,_ Merlin, it sounds like a bad novel,” Draco sighed from where he was lounging with his head in Pansy’s lap. Harry had learnt this was Draco’s go- to position when he was feeling sorry for himself. Harry had also learnt that tugging on Draco’s hair drove him wild if you were kissing him, but he preferred not to think about Pansy and Draco in that situation.

Harry had spent the previous night at the Burrow with Molly nagging him about not being around enough. She also spent every moment she could shoving him and Ginny together, and it was getting tiring. Ginny just complained that it was a massive cockblock for her and Luna. Harry was enjoying goading Ginny to just kiss Luna already.

Harry, Ron and Hermione had apparated straight to the Manor when the morning _Prophet_ had arrived, along with half a dozen supposedly well-meaning messages from witches and wizards who were concerned he had been put under the imperius curse by the Malfoy family. Apparently, they could understand Harry defending Draco, but not befriending him.

Harry, Ron and Hermione had arrived to find Pansy and Blaise incendioing Howlers that were screeching outside the Manor gate, unable to cross the boundary due to the wards. Draco was sat watching them, knees tucked under his chin and his face blank as Narcissa rested her hand on his shoulder. Harry had wanted to march over and kiss the blank mask off Draco’s face, but he couldn’t with Narcissa watching them. Instead Harry took to destroying the Howlers and other letters of complaint with particular relish until there was nothing left but ashes.

Narcissa said nothing as she watched them destroy the messages and walked back into the Manor, robes flowing, when they were done. Harry had a feeling that all those brave (or stupid) enough to harass the housebound Malfoys would find their bravery seep away if they ever found themselves face-to-face with the matriarch. He was also aware that Narcissa would not forgive an insult to her son a second time.

Zabini looked up from the “strategy board,” as Hermione had nicknamed it. “This whole thing between the two of you sounds like a bad novel, I mean enemies to lovers, really?” he let out a sigh of disgust, causing Ron to snicker.

“We’re not lovers,” Harry and Draco protested at the same time, and even though Harry himself had uttered those exact same words, it still stung to hear them come out of Draco’s mouth.

Zabini let out a non-committal noise. “Anyway, I think we really ought to do a tell-all.”

“A tell-all?” Draco spluttered, jumping up. “Are you mad? Yes, I’ll just announce to the world that I, Draco Malfoy, am a flaming homosexual shagging the Chosen One. I think we’ve seen how well the public would take that, not to mention my father! I think my father would murder me himself and then beg for the Kiss so he could forget what a monumental disappointment his only son and heir was. An absolutely spiffing idea, Blaise, really something else. You could have been a bloody Gryffindor for all the intelligence that idea involves!”

Harry, Ron and Hermione let the insult slide. Although, Harry did notice Hermione’s eyes flash in warning and Ron’s jaw tighten.

Pansy cooed at Draco and pulled him back down into her lap. Harry felt a wave of jealousy when he saw how easily she could calm Draco down, how well they knew each other. Harry wanted to be the one to reassure Draco that everything was fine; he wanted to tell Draco not to give a fuck about what the public thought of the two of them, but Harry kept his silence.

“Give Blaise a moment to explain,” Pansy said, hands carding through that white hair again. Harry didn’t miss the pointed look she shot Zabini, who rolled his eyes.

“Once again, Draco, you have managed to leap to conclusions and completely miss the point,” Zabini said, “if you had let me finish I was going to suggest a tell-all about your friendship with Potter.  An article with the two of you speaking alongside each other may help people understand it better.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Hermione nodded. “The more we pair them together, the more people will like Draco because well, they like anything Harry likes.” She shot Harry an apologetic look, and he shrugged in response. It was true, the wizarding world would believe anything the _Prophet_ and Harry told them. “I think we ought to do that letter we discussed a few weeks ago as well.” Harry pulled a face; he’d been hoping to dodge that bullet, but he’d do it for Draco.

Ron coughed to get all of their attention. “I mean, for this to work they have to be able to be in the same room for a prolonged period of time and not look like they want to jump each other.” He held up the photo of Draco and Harry laughing together around London. Harry had thought they’d be safe in Muggle areas but obviously nowhere was private anymore. “I personally am shocked that none of them picked up on it from this disgusting picture.”

Harry gave his best mate a lazy kick, and Ron grinned at him.

“That is a good point,” Pansy mused.

“I can control myself,” Draco muttered.

“It’s not you I’m worried about, it’s Potter and his endearing little Gryffindor face that can’t hide any of his emotions,” Pansy said.

Harry turned on them all in outrage. “I can control myself,” he said, parroting Draco’s words.

“I mean, come on mate, you’ve never been very good at hiding what you feel, especially not from the press,” Ron said, sharing a look with Hermione. Harry hated it when they discussed him in front of him without using any words.

“See? Gryffindors,” Pansy sighed.

“I was meant to be sorted into Slytherin you know.” The words fell off Harry’s tongue in his indignation at their accusations. Looking back, it wasn’t the best time to announce this little secret that he’d kept to himself since he’d first entered Hogwarts. Everyone in the room looked like he’d just announced that he liked to eat small children for dessert. Ron looked even more personally offended, as if Harry had just announced he planned on eating Ron’s first-born child for desert.

“You’re joking?” Zabini said, the first to compose himself. Harry thought this moment ought to be written into the history books, as he had never seen Blaise Zabini look anything but in control.

“Nope, I had to beg the Hat not to put me in Slytherin,” Harry shrugged, trying not to show how amused he was.

“Mate,” Ron said slowly.

“Why did you beg not to be put in Slytherin?” Pansy asked, “You grew up in the muggle world, you couldn’t have known much about it.”

Harry gave Draco an awkward look; he wasn’t sure how much Draco was processing this moment. “I- urm- met someone in Madame Malkin’s who bragged about Slytherin, and they seemed like a right git, and after he was sorted into Slytherin I wanted to keep as far away from them as possible.”

“Mate,” Ron repeated.

Pansy turned on Draco and smacked the top of his head. “Your rudeness kept us from having Harry bloody Potter in our house? Imagine how different things would have been if he’d been a Slytherin!”

Harry had never really taken the time to consider what would have happened if he’d been a Slytherin, if it had been Draco and Pansy he’d befriended all those years ago and not Ron and Hermione. It was a strange idea, and he couldn’t picture it.

Draco batted Pansy’s hands away and slowly sat up. “You didn’t go into Slytherin because of me?”

“Mate,” Ron whimpered, head dropping into his hands. Hermione gave him a pat on the back. She had her thinking face on.

Harry shot Draco an apologetic shrug. “You didn’t make a great first or second impression.”

“Or third, fourth, or fifth,” Pansy interjected, her clear joy at the situation radiating off her.

Zabini sighed and examined his nails. “You truly were a prick in school, weren’t you Draco.” It wasn’t a question.

Harry wondered about the history there. From what he’d seen on the train in sixth year, Zabini hadn’t been impressed with Draco, but something had clearly changed since then. Harry supposed Draco had changed a lot from the beginning of sixth year; for example, Draco no longer wanted to murder him.

“Yes, yes, Harry didn’t like me despite my best efforts at charming him,” Draco muttered, waving his hand dismissively.

“You were trying to be charming?” Harry asked, unable to smother his laughter that only grew louder as Draco pouted.

“Yes, Mother always said I was a particularly charming child.”

“I think that me and your mother may have found another topic to disagree on,” Harry said, leaning closer to Draco, who was smiling his subtle smile.

“Oh, good, I was beginning to worry that list was getting a smidge short.”

Ron let out another whimper of “Mate,” and Harry gave him an apologetic grin.

“Sorry, mate.”

“First of all, you start thinking Ferret’s fit, and now this,” Ron sighed, “It’s all too much for me.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and dragged them all back to the conversation about getting the public to like Draco. Harry grudgingly agreed to doing a joint article with Draco, and it was settled that Hermione would owl Skeeter and set it up.

Once they were done Harry prepared to follow Ron and Hermione back to the Burrow, when Draco’s hand shot out and grabbed him. Harry turned around brows raised.

“You’re not going anywhere until I get to show you just how charming of a person I’ve become,” Draco drawled, causing Ron to clamp his hands over his ears and run out of the room with an agility Harry had never seen him demonstrate before - and this included Ron’s stint as the Gryffindor Keeper. He had no problem with a demonstration, and he had to concede that Draco’s tongue certainly was a lot more charming now than it had been at eleven. Harry decided to take it upon himself to use his own mouth to show Draco how few shits he gave about public opinion of them. Harry liked to think he succeeded.

* * *

 

Harry stared down at the copy of the day’s _Prophet_ with dismay. He hadn’t meant to bring more attention to Draco’s trial than it already was, but once again Harry had put his oversized foot in his mouth. ‘ _Trial of the Century: Chosen One Defends School Friend Against the Ministry.’_ Kingsley was not going to like this. Harry was supposed to be showing a united front with the Ministry, which he’d only agreed to for Kingsley’s sake and as a bargaining tool for future reforms.

Harry imagined that Robards was busting his nut over the _Prophet_ referring to Draco merely as “an old school friend.” It was quite a funny image, though not quite as entertaining as Draco’s expression would be upon being demoted to being merely a “school friend.”

“I mean really Harry, you didn’t have to say it, did you?” Hermione sighed, taking a large gulp of the black coffee Ron had just put beside her. It was a fair enough statement in itself but it irked him nonetheless. No, perhaps he should not have snapped at the reporter milling around outside the Manor yesterday when Harry went to visit, but then again, the git had insulted Draco, and Harry had never been very good at controlling his temper around the press.

She sighed again, clearly catching the mulish expression on his face. “I mean, I understand you wanted to defend Draco, but did you have to insult the Ministry?” Harry had to concede that Hermione had a point. He did not have to have suggested that the Ministry were a bunch of absolute idiots.

He gazed down at the article. It was that picture of him and Draco laughing outside the supermarket with the pull-quote ‘Draco Malfoy is no more a threat to society than I am, and anyone who thinks otherwise is an absolute idiot’ underneath, in type nearly as big as the headline. Yes, perhaps, he could have phrased it better.

“Kinda funny,” Ron grinned through a mouthful of bacon, “like don’t get me wrong, I’m counting down the minutes until we receive a summons to Kingsley’s office, but it’s still funny.” Harry was glad that Ron could find the humour in the situation even, if it did earn them both one of Hermione’s stronger glares. “Think of it this way, the public are going to be too afraid of Harry calling them idiots to insult Malfoy.”

“Or people will distrust the Malfoys even more because of Harry’s sudden change in attitude.”

“Or that,” Ron shrugged.

“I think it’s brilliant. Look, _The Wand’s lead headline is_ ‘ _Harry Potter Calls the Ministry Idiots,’_ ” Ginny laughed, dropping another paper on the breakfast table. “Can’t get much more succinct than that.” Hermione scowled at him again, and Harry decided that his breakfast was particularly interesting. Ron was right; it was time to start counting down the minutes until Kingsley summoned them.

* * *

In the end, it was thirty minutes from the time the _Prophet_ was delivered to the Burrow for Kingsley’s patronus to appear and demand Harry, Hermione, and Ron floo straight into his office at once. Harry had ignored the ‘I told you so’ look Hermione gave him and picked up the floo powder. He really hated flooing. They had been at Ministry ten minutes so far, and Robards was still yelling.

“-- a complete disregard for your elders! Have you any idea what it means for the Ministry to be publically humiliated by you, boy? We are working to overcome all the mistakes made during the War and you seek to undo this all over some petty disagreement!”

Harry had tried interrupting once, but Kingsley had shot him a look that suggested it was best Harry let Robards clean out his system, so Harry took to counting the wooden panels on Kingsley’s floor.

“I mean, for people who claim they want to work for the Ministry one day, you sure don’t seem to be showing us any respect!”

Harry snapped, “I will show the Ministry some respect when they earn it.” Robards opened and closed his mouth like a dumbstruck fish.

“I believe what we said is that we want to work somewhere where we can benefit the wizarding world, and if the Ministry is going to go about prosecuting children who made mistakes, then the Ministry clearly isn’t that place,” Hermione said, her tones icily polite.

The more interactions Harry had with Robards, the less keen he became to become an auror. He wanted to stop bad wizards, and someone like Draco wasn’t a bad wizard. He was just a bit of a git.

A heavy silence fell until Kingsley broke it by sighing, “Do you have anything to say for yourself, Mr Potter?” Harry cringed. Kingsley was clearly disappointed if he was calling Harry by his surname.

He lifted his head and met Kingsley’s eyes evenly. “I didn’t mean to call the Ministry a load of absolute idiots.” Harry could see Ron trying not to laugh out of the corner of his eye, and had to bite down on his lip hard to ensure that he didn’t grin.

Robards huffed, but Kingsley ignored him. “And what did you mean to do?”

“Didn’t really think about it, just wanted the reporter to leave off,” Harry shrugged, shifting in his chair under Kingsley’s gaze. “Just don’t blame Draco for this.”

“Why would we blame Mr Malfoy for this?”

“The Ministry has a history of letting Draco take the fall for things beyond his control. Can’t blame me for being cautious.” Ron let out a badly hidden snort at Harry’s words, but Harry just kept staring at Kingsley, watching the corner of his mouth twitch.

Rubbing his fingers together, Kingsley sighed. “Very well Harry, it seems this was all just a small miscommunication-”

“But Minister!” Robards started in outrage before Kingsley shut him up with a glare.

“However, in the future, please do try not to slander the Ministry in the press,” he finished.

Harry nodded, pushing himself to his feet, desperate to escape the office before Kingsley changed his mind, “Yes, of course, thank you, Minister.” Harry grabbed a handful of floo powder and was just about to throw it into the fire when Kingsley spoke again.

“And Harry, whatever you’re doing with young Mr Malfoy… I can’t say I know Draco but I know Lucius, and a child Lucius raised would not have smiled the way Draco did in a muggle supermarket.” Robards was staring at Kingsley with thinly veiled betrayal on his face, “Keep it up.”

“Of course, Minister,” Harry grinned, seeing the smile in Kingsley’s eyes as he threw the floo powder in and called out the address for the Burrow. He hoped Kingsley stayed as Minister of Magic. They needed more men like him in the post-War world.

* * *

 “Potter, will you just sit still!” Pansy snapped, as she ran her hands through Harry’s hair for what felt like the thousandth time. “I mean honestly,” she tutted. He didn’t know what she was doing to his hair; she’d claimed she was going to make it bearable for Skeeter’s article but he wasn’t sure he trusted her. Draco was watching with far too much amusement for it to be too good.

“Why are you even trying?” Ron asked, lounging back on the sofa and stuffing another piece of popcorn in his mouth.

Pansy huffed. “Because his hair will look artfully and deliberately tousled if I have to die trying.” She gave a particularly hard yank on Harry’s hair, and he let out a squawk of protest.

“Honestly Pans, you should quit while you’re ahead. Potter’s hair will never obey the laws of gravity,” Draco drawled, fiddling with the edge of his brown leather jacket. He’d tried to wear robes, but Hermione had vetoed them and shooed him back into his room to change into something more muggle friendly that would have people falling for the misguided bad-boy look. So, Draco was sat there looking painfully attractive, considering Harry was supposed to only have platonic feelings for him.

Harry stuck his middle finger up at Draco before hissing as Pansy ran her hands through his hair again. By now he was pretty sure she was tugging on it too hard on purpose. Draco snickered again but cowered under Pansy’s firm look.

“I don’t know why you’re laughing. Now it’s your turn,” she said, giving Harry a firm shove. He wasn’t about to protest and scampered off to join Ron on the sofa, grabbing a handful of popcorn as he watched Pansy drag Draco into her styling chair.

“I can style myself,” Draco mumbled, bottom lip sticking out. Harry was fuelled by a desire to lean over and bite it, but he swallowed it down. Those urges didn’t belong in a platonic interview.

Pansy just hummed and started to reach for the gel.

“Don’t!” Harry blurted out before he could stop himself. He ducked his head as everyone turned to him.

“Sorry?” Pansy said.

Draco arched his brows and Harry grinned at him sheepishly, “Don’t slick it back… It looks better when it falls in over his face a bit.”

“Agreed,” Ron nodded through a mouthful of popcorn, “means you can’t see him as well.

Rolling his eyes at his mate, Harry continued, “Nah, just makes him look softer, less pointy.” Ron gagged and Draco preened. Harry just shrugged. It was true. He loved Draco’s hair, and when it was slicked back off his face he looked too much like the git he’d been at school; the softer hair suited the person Draco was becoming.

“Potter, do try not to say disgusting things like that in front Skeeter,” Zabini sighed, “It makes it too apparent that the two of you can’t keep your hands off each other.”

“The way they look at each other is blatant enough,” Pansy grumbled. Draco stiffened, and she swatted him with her hand, “Don’t worry, just don’t lose your head and no one will figure out your Chosen cock fetish.”

Harry snorted, and Draco glowered at him as if this was all Harry’s fault.

“They’re your friends,” he shrugged, grabbing another handful of Ron’s popcorn.

“Ouch,” Pansy said, pouting, “Hear that Blaise? Potty doesn’t consider us to be his friends.”

“Heart-breaking,” Zabini drawled.

“I wish you weren’t my friends,” Draco muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets and dropping dramatically onto one of the sofas.

Sitting down beside him Pansy grinned, flashing a smile of sharp teeth. “Who would you have without us? You’d have to befriend Weasely.” Harry wasn’t sure who looked more outraged at the suggestion: Draco or Ron. They were both a pair of idiots in Harry’s opinion, but he laughed anyway.

They were sat in the usual room in Draco’s quarters waiting for Hermione to bring in Rita Skeeter for the interview. Harry was dreading it in a way. He didn’t trust Skeeter not to try twist things even with Hermione breathing down her neck and threatening to expose her. Harry was even more worried about his own stupid face and its inability to hide what he was thinking; how would anyone believe that all he wanted from Draco was friendship?

Harry wanted more than he had as well. He wanted to be able to take Draco on dates. He wanted to know that the nights he wasn’t here, Nott wasn’t jumping in and taking his place. Harry liked sleeping at Draco’s it meant that he didn’t feel like he was annoying Ron and Hermione, and that they could always calm each other down from their nightmares.

Harry wanted to know if Draco felt there was something more between them too. Did Draco understand that nothing was ever simple between the two of them and that Harry couldn’t control the speed at which he fell for the other boy? Together they’d always been both obsessive and excessive, and now he’d tasted more, he didn’t want anything else.

A few minutes later Hermione led in Skeeter, who was dressed in a purple dragon scale jacket and a matching skirt. Her blonde hair was permed, and she lit up at the sight of Draco and Harry, though he was pretty sure that she saw them as Galleons, not people. A podgy man trailed in behind her with a large camera around his neck. He looked as if he’d rather be anywhere else in that moment, and Harry could relate.

“Draco, darling,” she purred, walking over and shaking his hand as if they were old friends. Harry supposed they were in a way. Draco certainly had a more civil past relationship with Skeeter than Harry did.

Draco nodded, his face a polite mask. “Hello Rita, so kind of you to come by.”

“As if I’d refuse,” Rita giggled, confirming Harry’s suspicion that she only saw them as Galleons. “And Harry, long time, no see.” The smile on her face slipped slightly, and he smirked. She couldn’t pretend they were best friends like she could with Draco.

“Hello Rita,” Harry said, shoving his hands back into his pockets.

“Isn’t this just the picture of house unification,” Rita sighed, clutching her hands to her chest and smiling at them all. “I’m sure Albus Dumbledore must be smiling down at you all.” Harry didn’t miss the way Draco’s mouth twitched. “Any words on your former mentor Harry? May I ask how Draco’s involvement in his death affects your friendship?”

“You may not,” Harry snarled, fists curling at his side. He saw Draco visibly flinch, and Pansy’s hand now gripped his hand fiercely.

Hermione snapped her fingers at Skeeter. “Please stay relevant.”

“You asked me to do a tell-all interview on their friendship, and so I would presume that it was relevant,” Skeeter said. Harry wanted to hex that smarmy smile off her face.

Hermione started to speak again, but Harry interrupted her. “You can tell your readers that it doesn’t affect our friendship at all, because I know that Voldemort put Draco under immense pressure, and he was only trying to save his family. Dumbledore himself understood this, and I was there that night at the Astronomy Tower; I saw Draco lower his wand. I don’t blame him.”

Skeeter’s eyes lit up as she scribbled away at her notepad. “Can you repeat that Harry? Such a shame about the no magic thing, I can’t use the quick-notes.” Harry did not think this was a shame at all.

“I said I don’t blame him,” he repeated, staring at Draco. Draco’s face was unreadable as he met Harry’s eyes, but his mouth twitched at the corner when Harry smiled at him.

Skeeter let out a hum of satisfaction before shooing Ron off the sofa and having Draco sit down next to Harry. She wanted everyone but Harry and Draco dismissed from the room, but that idea was shot down instantly.

“Right boys, let’s start at the beginning,” Rita said with a click of her tongue. “How did this little friendship start?”

Draco glanced up at Harry through his lashes, a smirk playing around his mouth. They’d spent all morning coming up with answers to Skeeter’s questions that would avoid mentioning the life debt. Though it would most likely be mentioned at the trial, they wanted to keep it out of the press as much as possible. If people knew they’d only gotten together because Narcissa Malfoy had manipulated it, the friendship might not seem to be so genuine.

“Well,” Harry started, biting down on his lip to stop himself grinning —  what he was talking about was supposed to be serious “It all started with Pansy Parkinson-”

“The same girl who wanted to turn you over to Voldemort during the Battle?”

Pansy cleared her throat loudly and gave Skeeter a vicious smile. “The same girl.” Skeeter blanched slightly at Pansy’s expression, and Harry took that as his cue to continue.

“It all started with Pansy Parkinson turning up at my door- The Burrow door,” he corrected, “pleading with me to help with Draco’s trial because the Ministry wanted him to be given the Kiss.” Harry felt Draco tense beside him, and he wanted to reach over and take his hand. Since he couldn’t, he clenched his fists instead. “I hadn’t known that the Ministry were trying to give Draco the same punishment used to sentence other, fully committed Death Eaters.When I heard about what was happening to Draco, I knew I couldn’t just sit there and do nothing.”

It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was true enough. Even without the life debt he wouldn’t have been able to sit back and let Draco be given the Kiss. Harry had done nothing he wouldn’t have done without the bond.

Skeeter nodded as she continued to scribble in her notepad. “And so, did your friendship begin instantly from there?” Draco and Harry shared a coy smile.

“Well… not exactly,” Draco said, “Despite what you read in the papers, it’s no secret that Harry and I weren’t exactly close at school. So, it took a few fights for us to start getting along.”

“I pushed him in his lake,” Harry shrugged, lounging back on the sofa, arms behind his head. He felt Draco’s eyes flicker over him, and Harry sent him a slow, easy smile in return.

“Is that a metaphor?”

Draco sighed and dragged his hands through his hair. Pansy let out an audible huff at the destruction of her work. “I wish. It’s mainly been uphill from there, though.” The smile Draco gave Harry was so soft it hurt his heart.

Skeeter’s eyebrows shot up. “Boys will be boys, I suppose,” she laughed. “Right, now let’s give our readers what they really want to know: how did the Saviour and a Death Eater overcome their differences?”

Harry pulled a face at Draco who snickered, this was going to be a long afternoon.

* * *

Harry’s patience was long gone by the time Skeeter finally shut her notepad with a delighted smile. He forced a smile, and for the first time ever was jealous that Draco had been taught how to master his emotions since he was a child. The git was still wearing that same blandly polite smile with which he’d started the interview. Harry’s own smile had long since become a grimace, and only Draco kicking him had prevented Harry from snapping at some of Skeeter’s questions.

In the corner of the room Ron, Hermione, Pansy, and Zabini were playing a lazy game of cards, having gotten bored of watching the interview about an hour back.

“Now if we just have Mike take some pictures, that should be enough.” Harry didn’t bother to hide his groan at Skeeter’s comment. If there was one thing he hated more than being interviewed, it was having his picture taken. “Try not to look quite so miserable Harry, I understand the brooding look is a speciality of yours, but honestly,” Skeeter sighed.

Draco let out a bark of laughter, and Harry grinned at the beauty of the sound. A flash went off suddenly and he blinked, scowling again.

“Yes! No!” Skeeter exclaimed, planting her hands on her hips and scowling back at Harry. “You’re supposed to look like you like him.”

“I do like him,” Harry shot back.

“Then look like it.”

Scowling, Harry turned back to Draco who was smirking at him, looking infuriatingly pretty with his Pansy-tousled hair and leather jacket. Harry was sure his own hair would have returned to a bird’s nest given the number of times he’d dragged his hands through it during the interview.

“Yeah Potter, look like you like me,” Draco teased, his voice low and his breath warm on Harry’s cheek. Harry couldn’t stop a genuine smile from spreading across his face, and he didn’t even notice the flash going off this time.

A loud noise sounded, and they all jumped. “Sorry!” Ron exclaimed. He had somehow managed to knock over one of the side tables.

“So clumsy!” Hermione laughed.  It sounded forced, and her eyes were slightly manic as they always got when she panicked. What was wrong with her?

“Gryffindors,” Zabini drawled, as if that were explanation enough.

Harry jumped again, this time at the sound of Pansy hissing in his ear, “Will you two stop looking like you’re the only two in the world?” She’d appeared behind them while Skeeter and the photographer were distracted by Ron and Hermione. “It’s sickening and blatant!”

Draco opened his mouth to argue, but Pansy was already dragging them both up, sending a beaming smile towards an extremely confused Skeeter and photographer.

“Let me help put them in photo position,” Pansy said, “You know how useless boys can be.”

They were forced to spend another half an hour being posed in awkward positions by Pansy and Skeeter. Harry could see Ron snickering in the corner of the room, but Harry ignored him. He would grin and bear it all so that the public would like Draco. The Ministry couldn’t ignore the entire wizarding world calling for Draco’s freedom.

* * *

 

Burying his head into the crook of Draco’s neck, Harry let out a whimper. “Never want to see another camera again in my life.”

“Not sure that’s going to work out for you,” Draco laughed. The sound was muffled from where his face was pressed into Harry’s hair. “Seeing as you’re the wizarding world’s Number One Celebrity.”

“I think I preferred being Undesirable Number One,” Harry muttered, running a finger across Draco’s chest and liking the way he shivered. Harry had still never seen Draco without a shirt on, and he wanted that to change.

One of Draco’s hands was absently tracing patterns across Harry’s back. “You did look good on those posters.”

Harry’s head shot up. “You thought I was fit back then?”

“I’ve thought you were fit since fourth year,” Draco mumbled, his cheeks pink again.

Letting out a wild laugh, Harry kissed Draco hard and firm. “You’ve fancied me since fourth year,” he teased. Draco tasted like coffee.

“I did not fancy you,” Draco pouted, and Harry kissed him again. “I still hated you, I just also thought you were fit.”

“Whatever,” Harry grinned against Draco’s lips. He knotted his fists in Draco’s t-shirt and began kissing him deeply. Draco’s lips were hot against his, soft and open. Their bodies were moving together perfectly. Harry could feel himself growing hard, and he could feel Draco’s own length pressing against his thigh.

They rolled over so Harry was on top, still kissing. Neither of them wanted to be the first to break contact until Draco started desperately tugging up Harry’s shirt. Harry broke away briefly to pull it over his head and surged down, claiming Draco’s lips again, not looking where he threw the top.

He caught Draco’s bottom lip between his teeth, drinking in the sweet noises Draco made underneath him. Normally so sharp, Draco Malfoy turned to mush when being kissed. This was up there with Harry’s favourite things in the world. Then again, a lot of things about Draco were up there among Harry’s his favourite things.

Harry’s own hands began wandering as he gripped the bottom of Draco’s shirt and started to slide it up, desperate to see the pale skin underneath. Draco’s hands clamped down onto his, halting the movement, but not breaking the kiss.

“Please,” Harry whispered, “I want to see all of you.”

“No,” Draco said, reaching up to reseal their lips.

Harry let himself be kissed for a few moments more before pulling back a tiny bit. “Why not?” Draco had seen him naked after all.

Brows furrowing, Draco collapsed back onto the bed with a sigh, “Because I said no.”

“But why?” Harry pressed, tightening his grip on Draco’s shirt, his ‘I must not tell lies’ scar stark white against his brown skin. Draco scowled and ran a finger across the scar.

“Just trust me.”

“Do you not trust me?” Harry asked, his mouth twisting bitterly as he sat back, still straddling Draco. He would bet Nott had seen Draco shirtless.

Draco shifted underneath him. Harry bit his lip to contain his groan at the feeling of Draco’s hard cock under him. It would be so easy to lean down and kiss him, but Harry had to know the truth. “You don’t trust me.”

“That’s not it,” Draco started.

“Then what?” Harry demanded.

Draco’s mouth curled, “It’s none of your business.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

Harry started to climb off Draco, and scanned the room for his shirt. His blood was boiling, and he couldn’t get it to calm down. Without magic to flare out and take the edge off, he was just left to seethe alone.

Draco pushed himself up and glared at Harry. “You’re overreacting.”

“Am not,” Harry snapped childishly, “I bet you trust Nott to see under your shirt.” The words flew off his tongue before he could stop them, and they hung in the air as Draco turned red.

“This isn’t even about Theo!”

“Why not?”

Groaning Draco jumped to his feet, “Because I have been friends with Theo since before I could talk, and you and I-”

“Are you still screwing him?”

“What?”

“Or does he screw you?” Harry leered. Draco was in his face in an instant, scowling down at him, his cheeks still red.

“Fuck you, Harry!”

“Well, are you still screwing him or not?” Harry demanded. He knew he should let this go, but Hermione had told him to talk about it all with Draco. He had a feeling this wasn’t what she’d meant.

Draco’s face shuttered, and that cold, blank mask slid over his features, “Don’t you trust me?” he asked, in a cruel mocking of Harry’s own earlier words.

“Why should I?” Harry said, crossing his arms across his chest. His heart was thudding in his chest, and he was torn between wanting to punch Draco in face and shove him against the wall and kiss him with everything he had.

A hollow laugh left Draco’s mouth. “I knew what you told Rita was a lie. I knew blamed me for Dumbledore!” The mask was cracking as Draco’s bottom lip trembled.

“Don’t think you understand what I think.”

“But it’s true, isn’t it? You’re only here because of that fucking life debt! You don’t think I deserve to be saved, you’re only here because my mother made you!” Those grey eyes flashed, and Harry’s mouth fell open as Draco spoke. “Is this all just part of trying to make me a better person? Shag it into me? I am not something for you to fix!”

“We haven’t fucked yet,” Harry blurted out, his mind not able to cope with everything Draco had said. He dragged his hands through his hair and blinked stupidly, “Is that really what you think?”

Draco’s shoulders collapsed, and he wrapped his arms around himself. The fight evaporated out of Harry at the sight of Draco looking so pathetic. “No... yes... I don’t know,” Draco mumbled, “Why are you with me?”

“Because I like you, idiot,” Harry said, stepping closer to Draco.

“Why?” Draco whispered, and Harry knew the amount of pride Draco Malfoy had had to put aside to ask Harry Potter why he liked him.

Harry glanced around Draco’s room. He had initially presumed that Draco was a neat freak due to the sparse nature of his room, but Harry had quickly found out this was incorrect. Draco would chuck his clothes on the floor and leave books and plates lying around for days because he was used to house elves clearing them up.

Ghosting his fingers across Draco’s face, Harry swallowed. “Because you’re good-looking as hell, stubborn, resilient, witty, intelligent, a massive history nerd, loyal to those you love, braver than you think,” he whispered, leaning his forehead against Draco’s, “because despite our past or maybe because of it I can’t keep away from you and you drive my head mad in the best way possible.” Harry had never been very good with words, yet they felt so right when he said them now to Draco. He’d never been able to find the right things to say to Ginny, but here it came easily.

He felt Draco take his hand. “I haven’t been with Theo since before we kissed. I was too hung up over some speccy idiot to think about someone else.” Harry closed the gap between them and kissed Draco softly, cradling his head in his hands.

Draco was broken, and it wasn’t beautiful, but so was Harry and that was why they worked. They could help each other put their pieces back together.

“One day I’ll show you what’s under my shirt, just give me time,” Draco murmured against Harry’s lips, and Harry nodded. He would wait until Draco was ready to open up fully to him, and then he’d keep waiting, as right now walking away from Draco wasn’t an option. He wasn’t sure it had ever been an option. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gahh I hope you enjoyed that and can be satisfied that Nott appears to have fucked off... ((for now)) ....  
> This was a really fun chapter to write for me as their supermarket date amused me highly // all scenes involving my main six are always a joy // the angst at the end was a necessary evil  
> But yeah I hope you liked it too!!  
> Kudos and comments are Christmas and my Birthday rolled into one :)


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hullo!! Today's chapter has a little of everything for you all  
> As you can see the rating of this fic has now moved from M to E and you all know what that means ;)  
> Enjoy <3

Letting out a low groan Ron buried his head into Hermione’s hair as he chucked the article onto the floor. “This is actually the gayest thing I’ve ever seen, like I cannot believe I have been forced to witness this with my own two eyes.”

“It’s not that bad,” Hermione sighed, wrapping her arms around Ron anyway. “You should have seen a couple of the pictures I vetoed.”

Ron nodded, “How the whole wizarding world won’t figure out they’re shagging after this, I don’t know.”

Harry rolled his eyes and threw the article back at Ron. “We haven’t shagged.” They’d gotten close, but they hadn’t crossed that line yet and Harry didn’t mind. Sure, he wanted to, but he was happy taking his time and exploring every part of Draco’s body (that he was allowed to see), learning exactly where to press his lips to make Draco make that low keening sound that drove Harry mad. Everything about Draco drove Harry mad.

He let the personalised snitch in his hand fly away before catching it again. He smiled slightly at the thought of his father and how he’d always used to do this. Harry understood why now; it was fun.

“Perhaps that’s why the sexual tension is so bloody great then,” Seamus grinned, “just stick it in him and get it over with.”

“Or let him stick it in you,” Ginny leered.

Ron let out another groan, “I do not want to imagine that.”

“Is it weird that I do?” Ginny mused from where she was curled up beside Luna. Harry didn’t know what was happening between them, but it was sweet to watch, and certainly a lot more straightforward than him and Draco.

The thought of Draco brought a smile to Harry’s lips, and he rubbed his thumb across the snitch’s streaking lightning bolts before letting it fly off and reaching out to catch it at the last second, earning a cheer from Seamus.

Letting out a laugh, Harry glanced over at Ginny. “Kinda weird.” She shrugged, and he stuck his tongue out at her as he caught the snitch again without looking.

“Stop showing off,” Ginny laughed.

Harry let the snitch go buzzing off around the room before commanding it back to him just as Ginny was about to grab it. He smirked at her.

Draco’s present was one of his favourite things. It had completely changed the Quidditch games as well. Now with the three snitches, they would set them all off at once with each one being worth a different amount of points. Harry won nearly every time, so he didn’t get to play that often as everyone else got bored.

Ginny threw the article at him in response, and he caught it easily, folding it open and smiling at the paper. This earned him another round of groans from his friends, but he didn’t care as he looked down at the main picture. It was the one that had been taken completely when he and Draco were both off guard. Harry had folded up his own copy of it and stuffed it in his moleskine bag to save because he loved how carefree they both looked. Now he traced his finger across Draco’s jaw with a dumb smile.

The sound of Hermione gently clearing her throat dragged Harry from his thoughts and the picture, and he met her sharp eyes. She didn’t miss much. “So, what’s happening between you and Draco now?”

“Whatcha mean?” Harry asked, leaning back against the sofa.

She rolled her eyes. “Are you a thing?”

“A thing?”

“Yes, a thing.”

“Like a _thing_ thing?” Ron asked, trying not to snicker.

“Or just a thing?” Ginny added innocently.

Hermione huffed at them all, and Harry grinned. He didn’t know exactly what he and Draco were to be honest, but since their argument the other day Harry felt it had become a lot more official. Draco’s confession that he’d called it all off with Nott had made Harry feel like whatever they were was an actual thing. He just didn’t know how to define it in words.

He shrugged, “I don’t know, hard to explain.”

“Well, are you dating?”

Harry could feel all of their eyes on him, and he ducked his head. He didn’t know if they were dating as such. It all seemed a bit soon for that. He knew he had no interest in seeing anyone else currently, as Draco took up about 80% of his thoughts.

“Have they even been on a date?” Ginny questioned.

“They went to London?”

“With you and Parkinson,” Ron pointed out.

“We’re going to the cinema tomorrow,” Harry said, though it was for one of the muggle lessons Harry had been planning. Frankly, it was more for his entertainment than furthering Draco’s muggle education, but he thought it would be worthwhile nonetheless.

Ron frowned, leaning forward, “What’s a cinema?”

Catching Hermione’s eye, Harry let out a bark of laughter. Sometimes he forgot just how pure-blooded the Weasleys really were. “Like a room where muggles go to watch tv together.”

“TV?” Ginny questioned.

“Television,” Hermione said.

“Ahh, the telewision,” Luna nodded, “Father tells me the telewision is part of the Humdy’s scheme to bewitch people. They do it by luring people in and telling them their greatest wishes will be granted, and then they hympotise them to do their bidding.”

Harry wondered what it would be like to spend a day in Luna Lovegood’s head. He had a feeling it would be a fun day.

“Luna-” Hermione started, but she was cut off by Ginny asking Luna to tell her more about the telewision scheme. The way Luna’s face lit up when Ginny asked her made it worth the ten minutes Harry sat there listening to whatever crap she was spouting. Seeing that raw, childlike happiness on his friend’s face made him want to pause the world right there, because it was so easy to forget how damaged they all were, how much they had already been through. Even Hermione just sat back, curled up in Ron’s arms, and listened to Luna talk because as wrong as she was, there was something so pure about it, and no one wanted to rip that purity out.

* * *

 Harry was on a date with Draco Malfoy. Harry Potter was on a date with Draco Malfoy. _Draco sodding Malfoy_. Harry bit his lip as he watched Draco peer at the rows and rows of Muggle cinema snacks. There was something particularly endearing about the lost expression on Draco’s face as he tried to decide what to have.

Did Draco think they were on a date? After all, it couldn’t really be a date if the other person didn’t know it was. Harry hadn’t been on a date since that disaster with Cho on Valentine’s Day during fifth year, when he’d left early to see Hermione and Cho had started crying. He winced inwardly at that memory; in retrospect, he hadn’t been the best to Cho. Things were better between them now. She came around to the Burrow sometimes, and she seemed happier. He hoped she was happier.

“What do you want?” Draco asked, tugging on Harry’s shirt to get his attention. Draco was standing too close to him for this to be purely platonic, but that didn’t necessarily mean it was a date. He’d never been on a date with Ginny.

Harry leant over, and inspected the snacks, “I think we’ve got to go pick ’n mix and then a mixed popcorn.”

“To share?” Draco remarked, wrinkling his nose.

Harry laughed and handed Draco the empty pick n’ mix cup. “Yes, to share, you selfish git.”

“I can share,” Draco huffed, as he started to inspect the selection of the sweets, slowly making his way across the rows and popping a few of everything into the cup.

Harry grinned, wrapping his arms around Draco’s waist and leaning his head over his shoulder. He felt Draco tense underneath him. “I don’t like sharing,” Harry murmured, pressing a soft kiss to Draco’s neck before letting him go. He knew Draco wasn’t so comfortable with the out and proud thing as he was.

“Caveman.” Draco’s hand brushed Harry’s, and there was a tentative smile on his face. Harry beamed at him. “Now tell me what exactly is a UFO?”

It took far longer than it should have until Draco was happy with their snack collection and they’d bought their tickets for _Saving Private Ryan._ Harry had picked it to appeal to Draco’s history nerd side.

“So how exactly does this muggle contraption work?” Draco asked, dropping down into the crappy red velvet chair and lounging back like a King. Harry wasn’t sure if it was a Slytherin trait or a Malfoy one to make every seat look like a throne. It was hot in a way.

Harry was worried that that second killing curse may have done something to his brain, as there was no way he should be finding Draco Malfoy’s arrogance attractive.

Harry hushed him. Draco giving away wizarding existence wouldn’t do. He leant in close and dropped his voice; Draco shivered as Harry’s breath brushed his cheek. “It’s like wizard photographs in a way, but longer, and they speak. Also, it’s not factual. Well it can be, but this is a story.”

“I’m so glad my soul hangs in balance of your teaching abilities,” Draco deadpanned.

The lights started to go down around them. “Shut up and watch the movie.”

Draco glared at him, but his expression cracked as Harry shoved an oversized handful of popcorn in his mouth. Draco started to mutter something about Harry’s lack of manners, but Harry hushed him. He’d always loved the adverts at the cinema. He hadn’t been in years, but every now and again the Dursleys would cave and bring him with them. He’d gone alone a fair few times in the summer before fifth year when he was desperate for a distraction.

Reaching over in the dark cinema, Harry took Draco’s hand. He kept his eyes on the screen as he waited to see how Draco would react. Harry felt the other boy tense at first, but then he squeezed Harry’s hand and entwined their fingers. Harry was sat in a cinema holding hands with Draco Malfoy. Would wonders never cease.

“Hey Draco,” Harry whispered, leaning over so that a couple of strands of Draco’s hair tickled his nose. “Are we on a date?”

Draco turned to face him. They were only a whisper apart, and Draco’s face was all sharp angles and hollows in the screen light. “Hush, Potter,” was all he said, but he was wearing that sweet smile again.

“Is that a yes or no?” Harry asked as Draco turned back to face the screen, their hands still entwined.

Draco was silent for the moment as the opening scene started to roll, and then quiet as anything he whispered, “Yes.”

Harry didn’t respond but let his thumb trace the sensitive skin at Draco’s wrist. He, Harry James Potter, was on a date with Draco Malfoy.

“Stop smiling, you look creepy,” Draco hissed in his ear, but Harry just stuck his tongue out at him. He didn’t care, he was on a date with Draco Malfoy after all.

* * *

 

The Malfoy dining room had to be one of Harry’s least favourite rooms in the Manor. He supposed it was another beautiful room with the grand chandeliers, deep wooden table and extravagant fireplace, but there was a chill to the room he couldn’t escape. It screamed money. Even though the Ministry wards stopped the portraits of presumably former Malfoys, Harry still felt like they were judging him for not belonging. It was if they could sense that he didn’t fit in.

It wasn’t even just Draco’s story about how Voldemort killed Charity Burbage on the very table Harry was now sitting at.

“They were all laughing afterwards,” Draco had choked out as Harry spooned him. They both found it easier to confess when they weren’t looking each other in the eye. “And all I did was run up to my room and throw up. I was such a shit Death Eater.” He’d let out a weak laugh at that. “Suppose that’s nothing to be ashamed of, but fuck did it disappoint my father.” Harry had pressed a gentle kiss to the back of Draco’s neck and strengthened his resolve to get Draco out of this house. Every story Draco told him fuelled that desire, because every day Draco was trapped in his own Forbidden Forest, and Harry hated it. Draco was stronger than he thought.

Cecelia clicked her tongue, and Harry realised he’d been staring at Draco and not taking in anything that was said.

“Sorry,” Harry said, folding his hands on the table. “So, do we know who the witnesses are for the prosecution?”

“Not yet,” Cecelia said, the look on her face suggesting they had just covered this.

Lucius Malfoy let out what Harry thought was a particularly undignified snort at Harry’s lack of concentration. He resisted the urge to chuck his quill at Lucius’ head, but only just.

“I’m working to have Draco’s past excluded from the trial, which will diminish their witness list considerably.  I want the trial to be focused entirely on Draco’s of-age War crimes, which are few and supported by you.”

If the entire trial focused on Draco’s of-age War crimes, it would be a hell of a lot easier to get him acquitted. It removed the entire Dumbledore plot and the near deaths of Katie and Ron. Since Draco spent most of the War locked in the Manor, his only real crime would be the mark on his arm. In his favor, he had refused to identify Harry, and Luna said Draco had taken care of her in the dungeon.

“Luna Lovegood would make a good witness,” Harry said, though he felt bad about involving Luna in the whole mess. “I can’t guarantee she’ll speak, but I reckon she will if I ask.” Luna was always one of the first to defend Draco whenever someone started to attack him.

“The girl who was kept in the dungeons?”

“That’s her. She says Draco took care of her to the best of his ability.” He shared a smile with Draco. They were going to get him off the charges, he knew it.

Cecelia nodded and noted it down. “Very good, let me know as soon as possible. She’ll make a valuable addition.”

The list of character witnesses currently was Pansy, Zabini, Goyle, Nott, Bulstrode, Hermione, Ron, and Harry. Their main job was to emphasize the changes that Draco had undergone since the War.

People had responded well to Skeeter’s article. The public was singing Draco’s praises again about how people could change and how fantastic his friendship with Harry was for moving past the war.

“Also, I want Theodore Nott and Gregory Goyle stricken from the witness list,” Cecelia said.

“They are Draco’s oldest and most established friends,” Lucius said. Harry thought it was a bit of a reach to call either of them “established.” Goyle was a thick as a plank, and Nott was just creepy. He presumed Lucius was referring to their pureblood status.

“They are also the ones with Death Eater ties. Pansy Parkinson may have made one comment, but she has few other Death Eater connections. The same goes for Bulstrode and Zabini,” Cecelia went on, challenging Lucius to argue with her.

Lucius sent Draco an imploring look, but Draco just stared at his hands. Harry personally thought Cecelia Greengrass had made a good point.

Narcissa smiled, “Of course, whatever you think is best.”

Nodding, Cecelia turned back to Harry. “Now I want to a full review of your relationship with Draco Malfoy.”

Harry winced slightly, but he knew he had to give a full overview of his relationship with Draco, ugly bits and all. Well, a full overview excluding the fact they were now hooking up. Harry wasn’t sure what would happen in the courtroom under veritaserum, but they’d deal with that later. He didn’t want to complicate their relationship any further for now. They’d only been on one date. The world didn’t need to know yet.

So, taking a deep breath, Harry started at that first time in Madame Malkin’s.

Harry’s voice hurt by the time he got to sixth year, and he had to take a long drink of water. Things stopped being so straightforward from here on, if he and Draco had ever been straightforward. So, it was with some amount of nervousness that Harry recounted the near-death experiences of Katie Bell and Ron. And also, the sectumsempra incident.

Narcissa’s face tightened at that, but she said nothing. Harry realised he had never even apologised for that. Fuck, he’d nearly killed Draco. It had been more intentional than Draco’s accidents with Ron and Katie. He hadn’t known what the spell would do, but Harry had wanted to hurt him. He dropped his head and refused to meet Draco’s eyes.

Eventually Harry’s story ended when he described how Draco had screamed and begged Crabbe and Goyle not to kill Harry in the Room of Requirement. And then how Harry saved Draco from the Fiendfyre. Harry finally dared to flick his eyes over to Draco, whose bottom lip trembled slightly at remembering the loss of one of his closest friends. Otherwise his face remained impassive. Harry wanted to take Draco’s hand, but he didn’t dare make a move to comfort Draco with Lucius Malfoy sitting on the other side of the table.

Cecelia hung back to talk to Draco and Narcissa while Harry made a beeline for the door. He wanted to get up to Draco’s room and get ready to kiss the sadness off his face.

“Potty!” He turned around to see Pansy sauntering towards him in another outfit that left little to the imagination. She looked like a 50s-pinup girl with her curves, and it made him particularly relieved that Draco was gay, not bi.

He waved a hand at her, pausing outside the dining room door.

Pansy tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “So, how’d it go?”

Draco had told Harry that Pansy had her own family issues to attend to and couldn’t make today’s meeting. If Harry were honest, he sometimes forgot Pansy had a life that existed outside of Draco.

“All right. I gave an overview of my entire relationship with Draco so Cecelia knows what she has to work with.” Pansy arched an eyebrow — _Did they have classes in Slytherin where they learnt to do that so well?_ — “Not the entire relationship.”

Pansy smirked and opened her mouth to come out with what Harry was sure would be a particularly witty and cutting remark, when a smooth, cold voice cut her off.

“Hello, Miss Parkinson.” Lucius Malfoy managed to make Pansy’s name sound like dirt.

To her credit Pansy offered him a polite smile in return. “Hello, Mr Malfoy.” It seemed her pleasantries and comfort with Narcissa did not extend to the Malfoy patriarch.

Lucius leered as he regarded her, and Harry felt a burst of protectiveness. He had no doubt that Pansy could look after herself, but he didn’t like the way Lucius looked at her. “My son has enough embarrassing marks on him that are unbecoming of a Malfoy heir. I would prefer cheap whores didn’t leave their own marks as well.”

Harry had lost the ability to speak. There was no way Lucius Malfoy had just looked his son’s closest and most loyal friend in the face and called her a cheap whore. Harry was so confused. What embarrassing marks? Surely, Lucius couldn’t mean the Dark Mark, as he himself wore that, even now with a disgusting amount of pride.

Pansy ducked her head meekly, and Harry’s jaw dropped. He had never in his life seen Pansy Parkinson look meek. It didn’t suit her. “My apologies, Mr Malfoy.”

Lucius sneered at them both before flouncing off down the hall, his cane tapping against the stone floors.

“The fuck!” Harry eventually managed to splutter out as he dragged his eyes away from Lucius’s retreating figure.

Inspecting her nails, Pansy’s face was the picture of boredom as if it were an everyday event that she was called a cheap whore. “You must have left a hickey on Draco’s neck, you idiot,” she sighed. Her black nail polish was slightly chipped. Harry stared at her and blinked. “Lucius presumes it was me.”

“Why don’t you correct him?”

“Oh yes, because I’m going to drop Draco in the shit just because Lucius Malfoy hurt my feelings,” she scoffed.

“You don’t have to tell him it was me.”

Pansy smiled as if she were speaking to an idiot, and Harry clenched his jaw. He was just trying to help. “I covered for Nott, too. It’s just easier this way. Lucius is never going to expect the marks to be left by a boy. It wouldn’t even cross his mind that his precious heir may not like girls.” She dropped her voice and moved them away from the door where Narcissa was still talking to Draco and Cecelia.

“What a fucking dick,” Harry muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets. “What embarrassing marks was Lucius talking about?” he asked, suddenly remembering that bit of Lucius’s insult.

Pansy shook her head. “That’s not my business to tell.” Harry understood. He imagined it had something to do with why Draco wouldn’t take his shirt off. “Lucius does love him, you know, he just doesn’t know or understand him.”

Harry scoffed, “That is not love.”

“Love isn’t as black and white as you Gryffindors try to pretend it is, Harry.”

That was the first time Pansy had ever called him by his given name. It sounded weird. However, it forced him to remember Narcissa and Lucius running through the final battle screaming for Draco despite being two of the people most at risk. By then neither side had liked them.

“And anyway, I don’t mind. It hurts me a lot less to be called a cheap whore by Lucius Malfoy than it would hurt Draco.”

“So, you’re protecting him?”

Pansy leant back against the wall. “Look, you Gryffindors and your ‘I’ll die for you’ loyalty is great and all, but useless in the long run.” Harry opened his mouth to argue, but she kept speaking, “I wouldn’t die for Draco, but I will do whatever is necessary to keep him alive. To keep him happy.”

Harry couldn’t believe he’d spent seven years not understanding that Slytherins were just as loyal as any other house, perhaps even more so at times. They would do anything for those who they loved.

“Do you love him?” Harry gazed into those dark eyes and didn’t feel even a flutter of jealousy.

A tender smile graced Pansy’s face. “I will always love him, but I’m not in love with him. I’m sure you can understand that.” Harry nodded. He loved Ron and Hermione the same way. “I’ve learnt to love myself more though, so one day I may find a line that I won’t cross to save him.” The smile turned teasing. “Anyway, he doesn’t need me, he’s got the Saviour now.”

“He’ll always need you.” Harry meant it. This thing with him and Draco was fragile and new, but Pansy and Draco was so deep-rooted he couldn’t see anyone breaking it. He wouldn’t want to take Draco from Pansy. He shot her a roguish grin. “So, having Lucius Malfoy call you a cheap whore doesn’t cross that line?”

Pansy laughed and flashed him a savage grin that made him feel a fleeting stab of pity for Lucius Malfoy. “Being called a cheap whore by a dead man walking doesn’t hurt me at all.” She looped her arm in his, “Anyway, once this is all over, I’m going back to Hogwarts, you know. I’m going to get my N.E.W.T ’s and become a lawyer to ensure men like him can’t slither out of jail. I’m going to make them all eat their words.”

He had no doubt she would, because anyone who thought Pansy Parkinson was just a cheap whore yapping at Draco’s side wasn’t half as observant as they thought they were.

* * *

 

“Look, Draco,” Harry started once they were inside Draco’s room alone.

Sighing, Draco rolled his sleeves up and sat back on the bed – he’d become more comfortable doing that recently Harry had noticed, exposing the dark mark. “Is this the part where you say something painfully heroic and martyr-like?”

“Whatcha mean?” Harry asked, following Draco over to the bed.

Draco rolled his eyes. “We’ve just sat there and gone through every horrific thing the two of us have done to each other. I’ll call myself a Hufflepuff if you’re not about to make a comment on it.”

Harry’s hand started to reach out for Draco’s chest before he pulled it away, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

“So that’s where we’re starting,” Draco sighed again, folding his arms over his chest.

“I nearly killed you.” Harry tugged his legs up and leant his chin on his knees. He’d nearly killed Draco.

“Suppose you did,” Draco said, “Although, if I remember correctly I tried to crucio you first.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Only because you got there first.” Harry winced, and Draco took his hand, entwining their fingers. “I forgive you if that’s what you need to hear, Harry.”

Harry glanced up and met those warm silver eyes. “Did it hurt?”

Swallowing heavily, Draco’s face contorted with the memory. “It did, but I forgive you.”

“I didn’t know.”

“I know you didn’t,” Draco whispered, pulling Harry into his arms and pressing them tightly together.

“But-”

Draco cut him off by pressing a light kiss to his lips. “You didn’t know and I forgive you.”

Harry didn’t have the strength to fight him, so he deepened the kiss. All his brain could process right now was Draco’s silver eyes and soft pale skin under his hands. The kiss was languid, and Harry brought his hands up to cup Draco’s face, thumbs sweeping across those high cheek bones. And when he ran his tongue across Draco’s bottom lip, Draco made that delightful moaning noise and Harry’s self-control snapped. He needed more.

He pulled Draco by the shirt and lowered them onto the bed, Draco underneath him with his hands roaming across Harry’s back. Harry shivered at the touch. The kiss was all-consuming, and Harry felt like if it ended he could die. They took their time, hands learning every part of each other. Harry wanted it all burnt into his memory: the sharp feel of Draco’s hip bones pressing into his, Draco’s warm breath against his neck, and Draco’s desperate, needy hands straying all over Harry’s body.

One by one the layers were stripped away until it was only Draco’s shirt remaining, but Harry didn’t push. Lucius’s comment about embarrassing marks was all but forgotten.

“Fuck, Harry,” Draco whispered, voice catching in his throat, and Harry was pretty sure it was the sexiest noise he’d ever heard.

“If you want to,” Harry said, blushing. “I mean I’d like to if you want to.”

“Fuck,” Draco whimpered, eyes darkening as he leaned up and brushed his lips against Harry’s. “Have you ever...?”

Harry bit his lip. “With Ginny yeah, but not a guy.”

A broad smile grew on Draco’s face, “So I’ll be your first?”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck,” Draco repeated.

Harry didn’t know where to go from here. He didn’t particularly mind the thought of Draco fucking him, but it also seemed terrifying. Luckily for him Draco understood his plight without Harry needing to say anything.

Leaning over, Draco pulled a small vial of lube out of the drawers next to his bed. Harry didn’t let himself think about the person Draco used to use it with, because that didn’t matter. This was about the two of them.

Green eyes met grey as Draco poured the lube onto his own fingers and slowly reached up and inserted one. Harry’s breath caught in his throat at the beauty of the sight, of Draco biting his lip while he fingered himself open. Harry had to be the luckiest guy alive to see this, nothing else compared to it.

“Can I?” he managed to say eventually.

Draco let out a huff as he removed his fingers, but there was a small smile on his face. “I thought you’d never ask.”

The lube was cold to touch as Harry slicked up his fingers and worked his way inside Draco. Harry thought he would explode if he didn’t get to fuck Draco soon, but Harry was going to take his time and make this perfect.

It wasn’t perfect of course, as it was Harry’s first time preparing a man. Every now and again he’d be too vigorous, and Draco would wince, but he watched that expressive face for tells, and bit by bit he opened Draco up. Harry knew when he’d caught the right spot when Draco let out a loud groan, head thrown back against the pillow, begging for more.

“Fuck me,” Draco whispered, pulling Harry down into a desperate messy kiss, and Harry understood that this was a plea. That he was ready.

He kissed Draco’s nose as he lined himself up and eased in, Draco guiding him and telling him when to pause and when to move until he was fully buried.

“Fuck,” Harry breathed, forehead pressed against Draco’s.

“That’s the idea,” Draco said.

Harry started to move, thrusting up into that tight warm heat. It wasn’t long before his breath became erratic, and his heart started to pound. He could feel his orgasm was about to hit him.

“Close,” he whimpered, and Draco let out a low moan, his long legs pressed up against Harry’s sides. Draco wrapped a hand around his own cock.

“Come for me.” Draco somehow managed to smirk ( _the git)_ before Harry gave a particularly hard thrust, and Draco’s breath caught. Harry kept moving until his orgasm overwhelmed him and he collapsed, breathless, onto Draco’s chest.

Panting hard, Harry said, “That was amazing. You’re amazing.” His eyes strayed to Draco’s still-hard cock. “And you haven’t finished yet.”

“You going to help me out with that?” Draco asked, brow raised, as he managed to prop himself up. Harry threw Draco a wicked grin as he lowered himself and took the other boy in his mouth.

It didn’t take long, and when Draco came Harry did his best to swallow it all down before claiming Draco’s mouth in a messy kiss, not caring about how grim it probably was.

They stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each other’s arms until their hearts slowed down.

“Do I get to go on a chocolate frog card for having taken the Chosen cock?” Draco asked, his breath tickling Harry’s ear.

Harry snorted and gave him a light-hearted shove. “Shut up.”

“Come on, it must be something.”

“Start a club with Ginny.”

Draco wrinkled his nose and pulled Harry in for another all-consuming kiss that left him breathless. “No. You’re mine.”

Harry laughed but rolled over and kissed the idiot again. “I am,” he promised into the kiss. Sweet Merlin, he was so gone for Draco sodding Malfoy.

* * *

 

Harry tucked his broom away in the shed and grinned at Ron, who was arguing with Ginny over the technicalities of a foul. There were enough of Dumbledore’s Army there today to play a proper game of Quidditch in their actual positions. Harry had ended up opposite Cho, and his blood was still singing from the actual competition. The match had been two hours in the end, with Harry’s snitch refusing to be caught and Cho, and Harry neck and neck for most of the game.

He’d managed to catch it finally because of his ‘Gryffindor recklessness,’ as Draco would probably call it. Harry had done a Wronksi Feint, pulling up from the ground at the last second, fingers wrapped around the snitch to Ron’s triumphant yells. He wasn’t sure what Ron was happier about: winning, beating Ginny, or Hermione not playing. Ron and Hermione’s relationship was at its strongest the less they played Quidditch together.

“Good match, Harry.” He turned to find Cho smiling at him. She was still very pretty.

Ron winked at Harry before sauntering off to find Hermione, probably to ask if she’d seen his particularly good save against Ginny.

“Thanks,” Harry said, running a hand through his hair. It was sticking up everywhere after two hours of hard flying, but he felt on top of the world, excluding the pain in his arse. He wondered how Draco felt after all shagging yesterday. They’d gone three times, with each time getting better. He bit his lip remembering who he was talking to; now was not a time to be picturing Draco underneath him and on top of him. Merlin, the sight of Draco riding him had been something else. He couldn’t wait to see him fully naked.

“Harry?” Cho prompted, and Harry realised she’d been talking while he’d been fantasising about fucking Draco. Harry wanted a hole to open up in the ground so he could disappear.

He blushed. “Sorry, what was that?”

She laughed softly and put her own broom away. “I was asking how you’ve been?”

“I’ve been good, yeah, really good actually.” Draco was making him happier. Draco made him feel whole again in that way that no one else could. When they were alone together in Draco’s room, all Harry wanted to do was freeze time and forget about the upcoming trial, forget about their past and the fact the entire world expected him to be something he wasn’t. Draco understood that better than anyone. “How about you?”

“I’m glad,” Cho smiled, tucking a dark strand of hair behind her ear, “I’m good too, surprisingly.” They shared a knowing smile as they walked back towards the Burrow; the fact that any of them were okay after the War was amazing. “I’ve got a spot in a Healing programme that starts in September. It’s going to be a lot of work, but I’ll be doing something that matters. You know?”

He did know. “That’s amazing, I’m really happy for you.”

“Thank you,” she said, “What about you? Are you going back to Hogwarts?”

He shook his head. “I can’t go back there, not this soon.” He didn’t know if he’d ever be able to go back to Hogwarts. “I’m thinking of joining the auror programme with Ron when summer ends. They’ve said they’ll take us without N.E.W.Ts.” He wasn’t as keen on the idea as he had been before Draco’s trial had taken over his life, but he didn’t know what else he could do. He was good at stopping dark wizards, and he did want to do good in the world. He felt like he ought to.

“Saviour perks?” Cho teased.

Harry pulled a face. “Something like that.” It had never felt so easy being with Cho, and he wanted to apologise for being a shit when they were together. But he didn’t want to ruin the moment, so he just offered her a smile.

“Harry!” Molly’s voice cut across the garden from where she was standing, hands on her hips, a thin smile at her lips. “Would you come in and help Ginny with the potatoes, please?”

Harry resisted the urge to groan loudly. He loved Molly more than anything, he really did, but he was growing tired of her forcing him together with Ginny at every possible moment. He was also growing tired of Molly glaring at any girl who dared to speak to Harry in front of her, let alone someone like Cho with whom he had a history. Molly hadn’t said anything to him about Draco yet, and Harry was sure she must have caught on by now, so he supposed she was just ignoring it. His irritation only increased.

Harry gave Cho an apologetic smile and skulked inside, only to find Ginny angrily peeling the potatoes and dumping them dramatically in the pot.

“For fuck’s sake,” she groaned when she caught sight of him and chucked a potato at his head. He caught it with a tired smile.

“Yep.”

They began working side by side peeling the potatoes and trying to throw them into the pot from increasing distances and awkward angles. Molly opened her a mouth to scold them, but then her face softened, and she just smiled and left them to it.

“She thinks we’re flirting,” Ginny sighed as her potato missed the pot and she had to summon it back.

“Aren’t we?” Harry teased as his own potato landed in the pot.

She stuck her tongue out at him as she potted a particularly hard shot. “As if you’d look away from Malfoy long enough to flirt with anyone.” Being the mature adult he was, Harry stuck his tongue out back at her.

“As if you’d look away from Luna long enough to flirt with anyone.”

Ginny threw another potato at his head, and he ducked just in time, managing to summon it wandlessly into his hands before it hit the wall. He’d found doing wandless magic easier since defeating Voldemort, his magic desperate to be used now that it was no longer being pushed.

“How’s that going by the way?”

Ginny groaned and threw a potato into the pot with particular relish. “It’s not.”

“I think she likes you.”

“Pretty sure that’s just Luna,” Ginny grumbled, biting the end of a pink nail. “She has no interest in me.”

“I think you’re wrong,” Harry said as he peeled another potato, shooting Ginny a smile, “Give it time.”

“Time,” Ginny scoffed, “Like you and Malfoy? You shagged yet?”

His cheeks burnt, and he stared at the potato in his hands like it was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen in his life.

“Oh my god!” Ginny squealed, jumping up and down, her own stack of potatoes forgotten. “Tell me everything!”

“Tell you what?” Ron’s voice caused Harry to jump, and he hissed as he caught his thumb on the peeler.

“Harry and Malfoy shag-” Ginny started, before Harry lobbed the potato at her. She ducked and it hit Ron smack bang in the stomach.

Ron let out a wheeze as Ginny and Harry collapsed onto the floor in hysterics. “I don’t even want to know.” Ron sighed, clutching his stomach and glaring at the pair of them. Harry caught Ginny’s eye again and doubled over laughing again. “I hate you both,” Ron declared, only causing Ginny and Harry to laugh harder.

* * *

 

Harry passed Ron the gravy boat and was filled with an admiration for his best friend’s never-ending stomach: it was truly something beautiful. From the wrinkle of her nose, Hermione didn’t seem to agree, as Ron added another heaping of potatoes to his plate.

Molly had done her best to get Harry and Ginny sitting next to each other, but Ginny had managed to weasel out of it and end up the other end of the table with Luna, Neville, and Hannah Abbot, much to Molly’s chagrin.

“Oh Harry!” Hermione exclaimed, jumping to her feet.

“What?” Ron asked through a mouthful of food.

Hermione gave him a pointed look. “Is your name Harry?” Ron just grinned through the food, causing Hermione to sigh as she hurried back into the house.

Ron gave Harry a confused look, but all Harry could do was shrug. “Your girlfriend, mate.” Ron’s face grew into that soppy smile that occurred every time he was reminded that Hermione was indeed his girlfriend; it was if he couldn’t quite believe it. Their happiness made Harry happy.

Hermione scurried back out a few moments later waving an envelope above her head. “Rita Skeeter sent this to me. It’s all the photo outtakes from your interview that I wouldn’t let her use because, well,” she sent him a soft smile, “you and Draco look pretty damn obvious in them.”

Harry took the envelope, thankful for his dark skin that, unlike Draco’s, hid his blushes. He’d spend most of his life blushing if he were as pale as Draco.

Even so, when he opened the envelope, his cheeks reddened considerably. The top photo (the one, he imagined Skeeter had originally wanted to use) was the one where they’d been caught off-guard, smiling at each other as if they were the only two in the world.

“That was the one I knocked a table over after,” Ron said, leaning over and going to poke the picture. Harry moved it out of the way before his mate could accidentally smear gravy everywhere. He didn’t want the photo damaged at all. “I mean wow, mate,” Ron whistled.

“What?” Seamus asked, leaning across Mr Weasley.

Ron gave Harry a shit-eating grin. “Harry and Malfoy being disgustingly couple-ly.”

Seamus laughed and reached out to grab the photo, but Harry clutched it closer to him.

A smash sounded and they all spun around to see Mrs Weasley standing there with a broken platter of meat at her feet as she stared at them.

“Shit! Mum, are you okay?” Ron said, stumbling to his feet. Molly didn’t react. Her eyes stilled on Harry and the photograph he was clutching to his chest. “Mum?” Ron repeated when she didn’t move.

“I thought it was a joke,” Molly whispered, voice catching in her throat.

Ginny was standing up now, brows furrowed. “Mum.”

“I thought it was a joke,” Molly repeated, “I thought Harry and that Malfoy boy was a joke.” Her usually pleasant face curled into a Malfoy-esqe snarl.

Harry’s heart twisted at the look on her face. Molly was the mother he’d never known, and he couldn’t stand the idea of her hating Draco. But he wouldn’t let her get away with insulting Draco when he wasn’t here to defend himself. “It’s not a joke,” Harry said, voice low.

He could see Molly’s feelings swirling around on her face, and his magic started bubbling inside him, building like a storm.

“You’re actually dating that horrible boy?”

“He is not horrible,” Harry replied, fists curling as he tried to keep his calm. The rest of the table was deadly silent.

Molly let out an indignant laugh, “He is! He is not good enough for you!”

“And who is?” Harry snapped. “Don’t you dare say Ginny, because we are over!”

Flushing, Molly seemed to grow in size as her anger increased. “He was a Death Eater! He is a Malfoy, and a Malfoy never changes his spots!”

“He made a mistake!”

“Mum,” Ron said softly, stepping between Harry and his mother. “Look, I know Malfoy was a giant git, and you don’t have to like him, but Harry does.” Ron held his hands up and shrugged. Harry wanted to throw his arms around his best mate for defending him and Draco to his own mother. He knew what it cost Ron’s pride to defend Draco. “So, you ought to accept it.”

“You owed it-” Molly started, but Harry cut her off. If she’d said anything else he might have been able to keep his cool, but he was so tired of being told what he still owed the wizarding world, what he had always owed the wizarding world.

“Owed it!” he spat. The table cloth lit up in the corner of his eye, and he saw Seamus working to put it out. “What did I owe now?”

Molly said nothing.

“Why does the whole fucking wizarding world think I owe them something! I died!” Hermione made a small noise, but otherwise the rest of the Burrow was silent. “I died!” Harry repeated, the word catching in his throat. “I walked into the woods and died for you all, for all of you! And yet I still fucking owe more. I lost my parents, my childhood, my friends, and nearly my own life for this War, and I would do it all again if need be. I would save you all again,” his eyes were burning and he was shaking, “but please explain to me how I could possibly still owe everyone more.”

He waited, but Molly said nothing. It looked like she was about to cry. He felt Ron’s hand on his shoulder, anchoring him.

“Why is it everyone’s business what happens in my private life? Why does everyone think they get a say in my life? When will I have given enough?” Harry croaked, voice catching in his throat.

“Harry,” Molly started, tears streaming down her face, but he shook his head. He couldn’t be here now.

He heard Ron telling them all to let him go as he apparated away, seeking the only person he wanted now. The only person who never asked Harry for anything, who had never really been taken in by Harry’s Chosen status. He wanted Draco. Fuck that, he needed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you it had a little of everything: fluff, smut and angst (and also Pansy being Pansy which deserves a point of its own as I love my gal!). It took a lot of deliberating whether or not this was E over M but the discourse chat and I decided yes  
> (I think it's quite obvious how much love I have for Pansy / Ron / Ginny because they're so fun to write)  
> Also the boys finally did it yeeee!! Sex sex sex!!  
> As always if you did it enjoy it please leave comments and kudos because they mean the world <3


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hullo my lovelies!! I just wanted to say how overwhelmed I am by the response I've had so far to this fic and how much I love you all. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

“Well, I don’t want to say fuck but someone has to,” Pansy sighed as they all stared at the morning _Prophet_.

“When have you ever refrained from swearing?” Zabini asked, a wrinkle in his forehead the only evidence that he was stressed.

Pansy rolled her eyes. “It’s the thought that counts.”

“I’m not quite sure that’s the right context for that,” Hermione said.

Letting out a huff, Pansy scowled at them all. “All I was trying to say was ‘fuck.’”

Harry didn’t see a need to argue; all he wanted to say right now was fuck. Fuck, fuck, fucking fuck.

He glowered at the incriminating article on the table wishing he had his magic so he could incendio it. He’d gotten particularly good at setting things alight wandlessly; in fact, he was getting rather good at wandless magic in general. It gave his overflowing magic something to focus on.

Draco’s face sneered up at him from the front page of the paper, no hidden softness evident. It had been taken in the first month after the War, and Draco looked every bit the haughty, indignant pureblood that they were trying to convince the wizarding world he wasn’t. He didn’t look sorry for his mistakes at all.

 _Draco Malfoy’s Dark Past_ the headline read, as if anyone were not aware that Draco clearly had a dark past, otherwise he wouldn’t be on trial as a Death Eater. Harry hated the wizarding world sometimes.

He reached out for Draco’s hand and tried to offer him a warm smile but was met with blankness. He hated when Draco shut him out, but he knew better than to press him when they were surrounded by their friends.

The article was a tell-all into Draco’s bullying past, including his blatant idolisation of his father, which was all gossip anyone could have spilt to the papers. Hermione confessed she’d been expecting a backlash like this a lot sooner. Draco snarled but said nothing. Draco’s silence was almost worse than his anger.

However, the article went deeper into Draco’s pride at his family’s role in Voldemort’s inner circle and at being given the mission to kill Dumbledore. It suggested that Draco had always wanted to be a Death Eater. This was all stuff Harry knew and accepted about Draco, but he didn’t like being reminded of it.

“So, shall I pack my bag for Azkaban?” Draco drawled, lounging back on the sofa.

“Draco,” Harry said, trying to get the other boy to meet his eyes, to no avail.

A humourless laugh left Draco. “Do you think the public is still going to be kissing our feet, Potter?”

Harry bit his lip at Draco’s use of his surname. He knew the other boy was just trying to cover up how scared he was, but Harry didn’t have to like it.

“I think I’d like to receive the Kiss in my green robes, remind them of the Slytherin scum that I am.”

“Don’t you dare!” Pansy snapped, dark eyes flashing as she leaned closer to Draco, head tilted up as she dared Draco to continue. “Don’t you dare give up because of one cowardly article.”

The two of them glowered at each other before Draco dropped his eyes first, jaw clenching. Harry wanted to deck him. He doubted Ron spent this much time wanting to punch Hermione in the face.

“Was it Skeeter?” Ron asked.

Hermione shook her head, “Skeeter wouldn’t dare cross me with an article like this. No this is,” she scanned the article for the name, “this is someone I’ve never heard of before called Scarlett Martin.”

“I want to know who the inside source was,” Pansy demanded, and from the way she inspected her nails Harry got the feeling she wanted to gut them. He would join her. “It has to be a Slytherin.”

“Why?” Hermione asked, “Surely Slytherins have the least motivation to harm Draco?”

Pansy’s face darkened, “Not necessarily.”

“Don’t,” Draco snapped, and they glowered at each other, but this time Pansy gave way first, pursing her lips. Harry tried to catch Draco’s eye to get an idea of what was going on, but he couldn’t. Draco looked so alone and aloof, and Harry hated it.

Zabini sent them both disparaging looks. “It’s a Slytherin because Draco didn’t walk around Hogwarts bragging about his father the Death Eater or how he was going to be marked soon. He did it in the Slytherin common room where people hung on his every word. Well, _some_ people.”

“Blaise always was up his own arse,” Draco snapped.

“I would hardly call refusing to celebrate the Death Eaters being up his own arse,” Harry said.

Draco finally swung around to meet Harry’s eyes, his bottom lip trembling as his shoulders sagged. “That’s not what I meant.”

“And what did you mean?” Hermione asked primly.

Still staring at Harry, Draco sighed, his grey eyes swam with defeat. “I meant… I meant that I made a lot of horrible decisions, and this article,” he gestured weakly, “just proves that maybe I ought to pay for them.” Harry opened his mouth but Draco continued, “I mean I did want it, whomever is the source is right. I wanted that Mark, I wanted to bring my family back to glory. It was only halfway through trying to kill Dumbledore that I realised that I was wrong, that my father was wrong. It was only then that I regretted any of it.” He broke the eye contact and stared out of the window. “Maybe it’s just all too little, too late.”

Harry tried desperately for the words to promise Draco that it wasn’t too late for him to change. Yes, he’d been awful at school and stupid as hell for buying into all the bullshit his father whispered in his ear, but Draco was changing. It wasn’t too late. If it were too late then Harry wouldn’t care for him. Wouldn’t feel the way he did. But Harry couldn’t find the words, and so the silence suffocated him as he failed to comfort Draco.

“It’s not too late, Draco,” Hermione’s soft voice broke the silence, and Harry gasped, unaware that he’d stopped breathing in his panic. “It’s never too late to regret the choices you made.” Her brown eyes were warm, and he knew Hermione meant it. He also knew what it would mean to Draco to have Hermione of all people look him in the eye and tell him there was hope for him yet. “And we’re going to free you, and you’re going to have the chance to redeem yourself.”

Ron wrapped an arm around Hermione’s shoulder. “Can’t argue with her, mate. She’s always right.” He didn’t offer Draco a smile, but he nodded at him. Harry’s heart soared. His friends accepted Draco and all of his shitty mistakes. They knew that he was trying to be better. Harry wanted to hug them, but he just gave them grateful smiles as Draco nodded dumbly.

“Right,” Pansy said, breaking the silence, a tear traced down her face, but her chin tilted defiantly, daring them to mention it. “So, let’s hunt this bitch down.”

* * *

 “You do deserve to be saved,” Harry promised later that night as he wrapped his arms around Draco.

Ron had tried to get Harry to go back to the Burrow to make up with Molly, but Harry didn’t want to leave Draco alone after seeing his vulnerability today. He knew that Pansy and Zabini would have been here, but it wasn’t the same. He wanted to comfort Draco himself.

And anyway, he didn’t particularly want to face Molly when she’d have that horrible article backing her. It hadn’t been great timing, two weeks from Draco’s trial starting. It was fine, Hermione had said, she would speak to Skeeter and see if the source went to her first before moving onto a different journalist. And they’d just do damage control. Harry was going to have to write that letter about Draco that they’d discussed a while back. Fuck, was he dreading that, but it was going to be fine. It was all going to be fine.

“You think?” Draco whispered, turning around so they were nose to nose.

Harry nodded, “I know.” He reached forward and pressed his lips to Draco’s sweet mouth in a gentle kiss. “I’m not letting you go anywhere.” He wanted to tell Draco that he’d seen the boy he was and the man he was becoming, and that was what made him worth saving, but instead he just kissed him again. The words lay heavy in the back of his throat.

“Good,” Draco said, as he deepened the kiss, and Harry let all of his fears be swept away.

* * *

 

Staring into the frothy top of his glass, Harry realised that muggles really did get the short end of the stick. Not only did they not have magic, but muggle beer was quite disgusting. He ran his finger through the froth and sucked it off with a disheartened sigh. It was quite disgusting, and yet for some reason he was on his fourth.

 _It could be worse,_ Harry thought as he watched Ron trip over his stool as he carried another beer over to the table. He could be Ron. He would never understand how for all of Ron’s height, he managed to be such a lightweight. Harry supposed that it didn’t help that they were all still so skinny since the War.

“Harry, my man!” Ron slurred, slamming the beer down on the table, causing Draco to jump from where he was slumped over.

Harry gave his friend a crooked grin and tucked a stray strand of hair behind Draco’s ear. The short sides were getting longer again and felt bristly to the touch. Harry ran his thumb over it. He liked it. Draco glanced up and smiled at him. Ron rolled his eyes and wandered over to chat with Dean and Ginny, who were in a debate with Pansy.

Draco had taken one sip of muggle beer before spitting it out and demanding another drink. Harry was pretty sure even in his fuzzy state that Draco’s exact words had been, “I’m sure even muggles have a drink that doesn’t taste like Dragon piss.” Draco was a delight. And absolutely adorable when drunk off gin and tonics (Hermione had chosen his drink.)

Harry wasn’t a hundred percent sure how they’d all ended up smashed in a muggle pub on a Monday afternoon, but he blamed Seamus.  Harry had been scheduled to spend the morning with Cecelia Greengrass and Luna to get Luna’s statement straight, and then have some more muggle lessons with Draco. It had been Seamus’s idea to educate Draco in the way of muggle pubs, so here they were, Gryffindors and Slytherins smashed off their faces at 3pm on a Monday.

Luckily, the fact it was 3pm on a Monday in a country pub in Whiltshire meant there really weren’t very many muggles around, so their chances of breaking the Statute of Secrecy were slim. Hopefully.

Harry leaned in and pressed a sloppy kiss to Draco’s cheek. The best part about muggle pubs in the middle of nowhere was the fact Harry could be as tactile as he wanted. “Going to be sociable,” he murmured. He went to stand up when Draco reached out and grabbed his hand, entwining their fingers.

“Don’t leave me,” he said.

Harry rolled his eyes and gave Draco’s hand a tug. “Come with me then, dick.”

“You’re a dick,” Draco grumbled, sticking his tongue out in a manner that Harry was sure would hurt Narcissa’s heart.

Harry leaned over and pinched Draco’s tongue with his other hand, laughing at the disgruntled face Draco pulled.

“You were raised in a barn,” Draco laughed, slapping Harry away when he tried to wipe his fingers on Draco’s cheek. “No manners at all.”

“Raised in a cupboard actually,” Harry shrugged.

Draco cocked his head. “Is that some strange muggle saying?”

“Nah, I just lived under the stairs for the first eleven years of my life,” Harry said. “My first Hogwarts letter was addressed to Mr H Potter, The Cupboard Under the Stairs,” he said with a bitter smile. Harry would like to say he was over it after all this time, but he fucking wasn’t. He had been a baby, and the Dursleys had treated him like shit. They had starved him, and let Dudley hit him, and made him sleep under the stairs. Harry had been a _baby_. He closed his eyes and tried to swallow the sour emotions that came swirling to the surface.

“Harry?” He opened his eyes to see Draco staring at him, chewing on his lip and wide-eyed. “Are you okay?”

Harry’s shoulders slumped, and he squeezed Draco’s hand. “Yeah- I just… Can we get some fresh air?”

Draco nodded, and Harry led him outside ignoring the jeers they got from Blaise and Seamus. Harry frowned, realising _Zabini_ had become _Blaise_ , but it made sense. You couldn’t call someone by his surname forever.

The pub came with a small garden filled with twisted trees and pretty, if not slightly trampled, patches of flowers. There was a small pond in the corner with a sign begging occupants not to feed the fish.

Harry let the fresh air hit him, and he took a deep breath, his body swirling with one too many pints of beer.

“So,” Draco said, “you okay?”

Was Harry okay? A lot of people asked him that, and every time he just smiled and said he was fine. They always bought it, since it was what they wanted to hear. No one wanted to hear about his issues. Ron and Hermione did their best, but they had their own issues. He didn’t blame them; the War had affected everyone.

Harry looked up and met those grey eyes that pierced straight through him, stripping him raw.

“Not really,” he confessed.

Draco squeezed his hand and led him over to a bench in the corner. “Makes sense that you’re not okay, you know.”

“I feel like I should be,” Harry said, wishing he had another pint in front of him, more to give him something to do other than stare at his hands as he spoke.

Draco scoffed, “And why is that?”

“Because - you know - everyone lost so much and I got to come back.” Harry buried his head in his hands. “Just feel I ought to appreciate it more than I do.”

There was silence for a bit, and Harry felt Draco rubbing his back as he got his breathing back under control. Harry was determined not to lose control, certainly not because of the damn Dursleys after all this time.

“You’re mad - you know – Harry,” Draco sighed, “after all you’ve been through and all you’ve lost, the fact you function at all is a miracle.”

“Yeah-”

Draco hushed him. “I know you have this great guilty hero complex that I frankly will never understand, but it is okay that you’re not okay. You fought a War, you lost your family, you got raised by idiots apparently,” Draco caught Harry’s chin in his hand and raised it. “You’re amazing, Harry.”

It was Draco’s use of his given name that sent Harry overboard. He pulled Draco in for a deep kiss, needing to push all thoughts of the Dursleys and the War aside. He could hear Hermione lecturing him in his head to speak about his insecurities and issues, to tell Draco how afraid he was of being left alone, but he couldn’t bring himself to. Harry wanted to tell Draco, but he couldn’t.

Draco’s mouth was warm and wet, and Harry kissed it greedily, tangling his hands in that white hair. He could taste the gin on Draco’s tongue, and he drank it in greedily, not thinking about the fact they were in public, not caring about who could see them when he was kissing Draco. Draco made him feel grounded.

“Harry,” Draco moaned, and Harry moved so that he was straddling the other boy, pushing their crotches together as they kissed. “Harry,” Draco repeated and Harry didn’t think it would ever sound as good as it did coming out of Draco’s mouth. Especially when his breath hitched in that way and his lips were swollen. “In public,” Draco whimpered, as Harry attached himself to Draco’s neck. He could banish the hickey before they returned to the Manor.

“Do you want to stop?” Harry whispered, nipping on Draco’s ear as he ground his hips, delighting in the broken whine Draco let out. “I’ll stop if you want.” Harry meant it. If Draco said stop he would, erection be damned, but if Draco wanted it then Harry, in his alcohol-fuelled state, had no intention of stopping. Push all those memories aside.

“And people say Slytherins are deviants,” Draco laughed before thrusting his crotch up. Harry moaned into Draco’s mouth, hands raking down his back as he rocked against him.

He could feel his magic leaking out of him and seeking out Draco’s, protesting at the barrier the ankle bracelet caused. He heard Draco’s intake of breath, and he knew the other boy could feel Harry’s magic, feel it ebbing and flowing around the pair of them. This was the first time they’d done anything like this outside of the Manor where Harry’s magic was stifled. Kissing Draco made Harry’s magic feel infinite.

The sensation of Draco thrusting up underneath him sent shockwaves of pleasure through Harry’s body, only intensified by his magic and the alcohol. His magic had never gone crazy for Ginny like this, in the way it was now, seeking Draco out.

Draco’s fingers dug into Harry’s back muscles, and Harry ground his arse down, swallowing Draco’s groan. He wanted more, needed more.

As if Draco could read his mind, Draco pushed Harry off him and dragged him down to the bottom of the small garden where they were slightly hidden by the shrubbery.

“What are you doing?” Harry started, eyes going wide as Draco dropped to his knees and smirked. “Oh,” he mumbled as Draco unzipped his jeans and wrapped his sinful mouth around Harry’s cock.

Harry didn’t last long at all, and all it took was a few tugs on Draco’s own cock before Draco came in his hand with a loud moan. Harry cleaned them up wandlessly and Draco shivered, a sleepy post orgasm smile on his face.

“I can’t believe we just did that,” Draco said, shaking his head and leaning his forehead against Harry’s. His voice was croaky from sucking Harry off, and it sounded so hot that Harry had to contain himself from attacking Draco’s swollen mouth in another desperate kiss. “I can feel your magic,” Draco whispered.

Harry grinned and pressed a soft kiss to Draco’s nose, “It likes you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“And what about its owner?” Draco bit his lip.

Harry squeezed Draco’s hand and brushed his lips against his, “He likes you too.”

The open happy look on Draco’s face was one Harry wished would be there always. Harry wished he could protect Draco from all the pain that was coming.

“I like you too,” Draco murmured, smiling into the kiss. “However, we should get back inside before Pansy comes out and drags us in.” Harry nodded, and let Draco pull him back inside. He debated warning Draco about the mark on his neck, but he decided he liked it there too much to get rid of it yet. He’d deal with it before they returned to the Manor.

“And where have you two been?” Ron demanded once Draco and Harry finally slunk back into the pub, trying and failing to be inconspicuous.

Pansy’s cold drawl met Harry’s ears. “I think I have an idea. Honestly, Potter, I had no idea you were such a little slut.” she looked like Christmas had come early.

Harry ducked his head and bit his lip trying not to grin. “What about Draco?”

“Well, I knew he was a slut at heart,” Pansy laughed, throwing an arm around Draco’s shoulder and ignoring his deep blush and scowl. “Here. Sip this and stop frowning. It ruins your pretty face.” He scowled at her again but didn’t protest and simply took a sip of whatever delightfully pink cocktail Pansy had somehow managed to get the barman to make.

“What are you on about, Parkinson?” Ron slurred.

Pansy’s evil grin grew. “Well, judging from that awful hickey on Draco’s neck, his swollen lips, and both of their messy appearances, I’m going to deduce that-”

“Stop!” both Ron and Draco yelled at the same time, both with equal looks of horror and disgust on their faces.

“Mate,” Ron sighed, shoulders slumping as he shook his head, “I’ll never understand.”

“Me neither,” Seamus added merrily, passing Harry another beer. Harry accepted it greedily as Ron stared at him with disappointment. It was hard for Harry to contain his laughter, so he just sipped at his beer trying to seem innocent. Judging from Ron’s disapproving looks, he failed.

He slipped away after a while to find Draco who was sat - still with Pansy’s pink cocktail - in the back of the pub with Goyle, who looked the most out of place.

“You two okay if I join?” Harry asked, and Draco grinned up at him.

“I suppose we’ll allow you to join.”

“Oh, you’ll allow me, will you?”

“Do you two ever stop flirting?” Ginny grinned as she plopped in beside them, an arm around Luna’s waist. The two of them looked like a couple, but Harry knew better than to say anything. He had no intention of incurring Ginny’s wrath.

“Shut it, Weaslette,” Draco sneered.

“Ooh that’s a good one, Dray,” Ginny said with an innocent smile, but there was no real heat behind either of their comments. Ginny’s presence did lead to Draco dropping an arm over Harry’s shoulder in a possessive way that Harry couldn’t help but find sweet.

“Never call me that again, Ginevra,” Draco said. He was wearing what someone would probably mistake as a polite smile if they were stupid; Ginny wasn’t stupid.

One by one the rest of the group squeezed around the table, and it was a fair bit later that Harry realised Goyle had slunk off. Harry hadn’t even noticed him leave.

* * *

 

Harry’s head hurt as he skulked along the path up to the Manor. He’d spent all day in Cecelia Greengrass’s office dredging up memories of Draco from both during the War and postWar so she could help him prepare his testimony.

Harry knew he’d told Draco he’d help him cook something tonight, but Harry decided that perhaps it was time to introduce Draco to the wonder of muggle takeaway. He’d start with curry. Merlin, he’d murder a curry right now.

Quickening his pace at seeing the ominous flock of peacocks, Harry hurried up the last bit of the path and banged loudly on the door. He glanced over his shoulder one last time to check that they weren’t chasing him. He didn’t trust those peacocks; in fact, he hated them. What kind of family just had peacocks strutting around?

Harry shook his head and waited for the door to open. He had so many questions to ask Draco about the peacocks. Who had bought them? Had Malfoy Manor always had peacocks? Did Draco plan on keeping the peacocks? He stared at them, parading around the grounds, and sighed. Fucking Malfoys.

“Look Draco I’ve got to ask, what’s with the peacocks? I mean, come on! Like-” Harry demanded, swinging around at the sound of the door opening. “Oh… Mrs Malfoy…” he stuttered, face burning as he stared into those cool eyes. “I thought you’d be Draco.”

Narcissa raised an eyebrow, and Harry could have sworn he saw a flicker of a smile curl at the corner of her mouth. “I gathered.”

Harry ducked his head, letting his hair fall over his eyes so he didn’t have to look at her. “Urm… Where is Draco?” The sooner he could get out from under Narcissa’s gaze, the better. He may no longer feel like he was going to have a panic attack in her company, but he was a long way from enjoying it.

“He’s in the drawing room with the rest of our guests. You’re late.”

“Sorry-” Harry started before realising he had no idea what he was apologising for, as he didn’t know why he was late. What was he late for? Who were the rest of the guests? “Sorry, what?”

“Late for dinner,” Narcissa explained. She used the same voice Draco did when he thought Harry was being dim. “We’re having a little get-together with a few friends before all that nastiness starts in September.”

Nastiness was one way to describe the upcoming trials.

Harry blinked, “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

“What don’t you understand?”

“Dinner?”

“Are you asking me for the definition of the word dinner, Mr Potter?”

“Yes? No… No! No, I’m not.” Harry dragged a hand through his hair and frowned, “I didn’t know there was a dinner plan.” He wouldn’t be standing outside the Manor in a pair of ratty old jeans and a hoodie if he had. He would probably be hiding somewhere in Australia. Hermione’s parents had enjoyed their trip, seemed a good a place as any to hide from Narcissa Malfoy.

Narcissa smoothed down her pale robes. “Did you not get my owl? Mr Weasley and Miss Granger are here.”

Ron and Hermione were here to have dinner with the Malfoys? Harry knew there was no way they’d done that willingly, at least not Ron.

“I didn’t get an owl,” Harry said, his headache getting progressively worse by the minute. “I’ve been with Cecelia all day.”

“Well, you’re here now,” Narcissa nodded, turning and gesturing for him to enter. He gave himself a second to fantasise about turning around and legging it down the drive before he pushed it aside and followed her inside. He couldn’t leave Ron and Hermione alone, and he was also morbidly curious.

Thankfully Narcissa didn’t try make conversation as they moved through the Manor to the drawing room; he didn’t think he could cope with it. All he’d wanted was to curl up with Draco and eat shitty Indian food, maybe try coercing Draco into giving him a head massage and then have a lot of lazy, easy sex.

Harry had not wanted to have some stilted formal dinner with anyone the Malfoys would consider friends. He knew that wasn’t fair; he liked Pansy, and even Blaise was growing on him, but it was the principle.

The second he entered the room, Harry regretted not fleeing away from the Manor.  It wasn’t just the Slytherins he was used to, but Lucius and Narcissa’s friends as well. He’d forgotten they must have had them set up as character witnesses. No one noticed him enter as they all sipped their champagne and made small talk, so he took the moment to look around.

The drawing room was beautiful with high ceilings and intricate patterns carved into the large fireplace. There was a large family painting of the Malfoys on the wall that caught Harry’s eye. Draco looked like was about nine or ten, and Harry shook his head; Draco already looked like a spoilt little shit in a kind of adorable way. Only Draco could make being a spoilt shit look cute. None of them were smiling, but there was an ease to Narcissa and Lucius’s faces that Harry had never seen before. It made him think about the complexities that surrounded the Malfoys.

“I was an adorable child, I know,” Draco’s voice made him jump. “Remind me to show you my baby photos.”

“Aren’t people supposed to be embarrassed about their baby photos?” Harry laughed, turning from the portrait to find Draco smiling at him softly. He was in formal dress robes with his hair styled casually, and if they weren’t surrounded by Slytherins and Draco’s family, Harry would snog him senseless.

Draco’s nose wrinkled, “Why on earth would I be ashamed about my baby photos? As I said, I was an adorable child.” Harry laughed. Draco was too much sometimes. “Were you not cute as a child? I bet you weren’t as cute as me.”

Harry shrugged, “I don’t know, there aren’t any baby pictures of me.”

“Why?”

“My Aunt and Uncle didn’t like me very much.”

“Then they were idiots,” Draco said firmly.

“You used to dislike me.” It was an understatement.

Draco shrugged, his smile turning into a smirk. “I was a bit of an idiot myself, some could say.”

“Would you say it?”

“I’m not repeating it,” Draco said, folding his arms and grinning. Harry wanted to kiss him. “And anyway, the reason I came over here was to bring you upstairs. Mother says you’re not dressed correctly.” Harry blushed at the way Draco’s eyes swept over him.

He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “So, you didn’t come over to flirt with me?” He grinned at the flush that spread over Draco’s face.

“Shut it, Harry,” Draco muttered, cheeks a delightful shade of red as he dragged Harry out of the room. He caught sight of Ron and Hermione cowering in the corner of the room and sent them an apologetic wave. He’d go say hi when Draco deemed him appropriately dressed.

* * *

Harry had done his absolute best to convince Draco that no one would notice if they never came back downstairs, but Draco hadn’t bought it.

Harry had thought he was finally going to convince Draco to bail when he’d pulled on a set of green dress robes. Harry had tried kicking up a fuss about Draco dressing him in Slytherin colours, but Draco had hushed him and said they made Harry’s eyes look incredible.

“Fuck the sight of you in my clothes,” Draco had groaned, “And those eyes. I’ve always hated your stupid eyes.”

Harry smirked, winding his arms around Draco’s neck and pressing soft kisses along his jaw. “I reckon they’d look even better on the floor.”

Draco huffed, his breath warm against Harry’s cheek, “You’re incorrigible.”

“Only for you,” Harry promised, letting Draco pull him in for a deep, claiming kiss. He could feel Draco’s self-restraint trickling away and Harry felt his blood rushing south.

It felt like only a second later that Draco was prying him away and sighing. “We need to go downstairs.” Harry started to argue, but Draco kissed him quiet, “I’ll make it up to you later,” he promised, hand ghosting across Harry’s hardening cock. And fuck did Harry hate him for that. Here he was making small talk with Blaise Zabini’s terrifying mother, sexually frustrated as shit, while Draco chatted easily with Pansy Parkinson’s equally terrifying mother.

Was it a requirement for Slytherins to have terrifying mothers? Harry was sure it was.

There were a few people who Harry didn’t recognise circling the room, but he was pretty sure they were Lucius’s slimy Ministry friends, and Harry didn’t want anything to do with them. Only the Malfoys would throw a fancy dinner party while under house arrest and with the prospect of the Kiss or Azkaban looming over them.

Harry was having a hard time listening to Mrs Zabini, as all he could think about was how good Draco looked and the lingering touch of his hand. Harry was reciting the names of Aunt Marge’s dogs in his head to try keep his erection from growing any further, and he could tell Mrs Zabini thought he was strange. Harry was thankful for Narcissa’s insistence on robes as they hid his hard-on.

Honestly, Mrs Zabini wasn’t trying hard to hide the fact that she thought Harry was strange, as she sighed loudly to Blaise that she thought that saving the Wizarding World had done something funny to Harry’s head. He personally agreed. Harry downed the rest of his champagne to make himself feel better, and slouched over to join Ron, who was hiding by the bar.

“So, Mr Potter,” Harry was jolted from his fantasies about the ways he was going to make Draco suffer later by Pansy’s mother’s voice. He searched his brain for her name —  he wanted to say it was Calla but he wasn’t going to risk it. He dragged his eyes away from where Draco was licking his spoon in an obscene manner to find her smiling politely at him. She had Pansy’s nose. “May I inquire as to your plans for the coming year?”

“Urm yeah,” he wasn’t good with their pureblood way of talking. It was all so fancy. “And please call me Harry.”

She nodded, “Of course, Harry.” There was a glint in her eye that reminded him of Pansy, and he relaxed slightly. “So, your plans?”

“Well, I’m thinking of joining the auror programme with Ron, ‘cause they’ve said they’ll take us without N.E.W.Ts so we can start straightaway.” He and Ron had been talking more and more about that as the beginning of September drew closer. Everyone would be returning to Hogwarts soon, and they needed to decide on what to do. They’d been talking about getting a flat in London together, for which Harry was grateful. He didn’t feel as welcome at the Burrow anymore. Sure, he’d made up with Molly, but it was difficult. Things were stilted because he couldn’t be the person she wanted him to be.

Calla Parkinson nodded, “What a… noble career.”

“Someone has to do it,” Harry shrugged. He grinned at the sight of the devious smile that grew on Calla’s face.

“I suppose they do.” Harry liked Pansy’s mother. She didn’t appear to have the same stick up her arse that most pureblood mothers had. He couldn’t say the same for Pansy’s father; he was slightly too enamoured with Lucius to earn any approval from Harry.

“What’s Pansy doing?”

“Returning to Hogwarts. I told her that she should just go out and find a nice husband, but alas,” she sighed.

A hand appeared on his shoulder suddenly, making him jump. “What’s my darling mother saying now?” Pansy drawled, inspecting her nails.

“Calla was just telling us about your fantasies to make something of yourself,” Draco sighed. Harry glanced back at him, and Draco gave his spoon another long lick. Harry kicked him under the table, feeling a vicious burst of satisfaction as Draco yelped. Stupid git.

Pansy and her mother both gave him a look, but it was worth it.

“Oh yes, mother’s always been most disappointed that I have aspirations past being a pretty wife.”

“You would make an awful trophy wife,” Draco grinned. Harry had a feeling he was missing an inside joke, but he liked how comfortable all three were with each other.

Pansy sighed, “I know, all these brains in my head.” Calla let out a soft laugh, and Pansy squeezed her mother’s shoulder. “Ta ever so, mother, but I’m off to the loo.”

“Still no chance of you popping the question?” Calla asked, sharp eyes fixed on Draco, who flushed and stuck his spoon back in his pudding with a particular relish.

“She’d never forgive me if I did.”

His answer shocked Harry, who had always presumed that despite all she said, Pansy would drop everything for Draco. It made him remember that he’d only known the Slytherins for a month and a half and that he had a long way to go before he understood them.

“I know,” Calla sighed.

Harry shot Draco a confused look and he mouthed _later_. Harry took a long sip of his wine. He couldn’t wait to be alone with Draco, but he pushed that thought aside; he was not letting Draco make him any harder during this dinner.

* * *

A tinkling of a glass made Harry glance up from his conversation with Ron, who in his desperation to make the dinner tolerable had moved quickly past tipsy and into drunk. Admittedly, Harry wasn’t far behind him. None of the kids were. He was pretty sure Bulstrode and Blaise had been doing wine shots when they thought no one was looking. He was surprised Goyle and Nott weren’t there, but perhaps they hadn’t been able to make it.

Narcissa stood, a smooth smile on her face as she regarded her guests.

Lucius had spoken at the beginning of the meal, welcoming them all and thanking them for coming to the final Malfoy hurrah. Harry had a feeling this was a relatively tame hurrah for the Malfoys; he’d seen the ballroom after all.

“I hope everyone’s had a lovely time this evening. I know I certainly have enjoyed being reunited with you all, even if the circumstances are less than favourable.” The pleasant smile didn’t slip from Narcissa’s face. “However, I shan’t dwell on that; tonight is supposed a celebration of friendship and a thank you to all of you who have agreed to help us.” Everyone raised their glasses to that.

“I won’t keep you all, but I wanted to give a special thank you to Mr Potter and his friends for everything they have done for my son, and thus my family.” She raised her glass and gave Harry a warm smile. He nodded in response. He could feel Draco’s eyes on him, but he didn’t look away from Narcissa who was holding his gaze. “Things would be very different without you helping out, and I will never forget the chance and hope you have given us.”

Harry wanted to tell her it was nothing, but he knew it wasn’t, not to her. Not to the woman who had defied the Dark Lord for her son, whose loyalty would always be with her family. No, to that woman, what Harry was doing was everything. A mother’s love was not something to be underestimated; it had led to the fall of Voldemort twice.

Harry’s eyes flickered over to Draco, who gave him that soft smile that he usually reserved for when they were alone, and something fluttered in Harry’s heart. He knew they all thought that he was saving Draco, but Harry had a feeling that Draco was saving Harry, too. With Draco, when it was just the two of them, that post-war gloom lifted in a way it never had with Ginny.

Harry lifted his glass, holding Draco’s eye contact, and mouthed, “To us.”

“To us,” Draco mouthed back, taking a sip. Harry watched his throat bob and the way Draco smirked, fucking git.

* * *

 

Draco collapsed, panting hard beside Harry, who took his hand with a smile. He was sticky and knew he should just go into the bathroom and get a wet cloth, but the thought of moving wasn’t particularly tempting. They had just gone through two bouts of sex, and they hadn’t even made it to the bed for the first one.

The second they had walked through the door of Draco’s room, Harry had pinned him against the wall, letting out all that frustration that had been building from the second he’d apparated to the Manor. Draco’s mouth had been wet, open, and easy as they kissed sloppily. Draco had dropped to his knees, and Harry didn’t think he’d ever get over the sight of Draco’s pretty mouth around his cock. Somehow Harry had managed not to come and had grabbed the lube from Draco’s drawer, opening him up and drinking in the sounds Draco had made. Harry had fucked him up against the wall, Draco’s long legs around his waist and fuck was he going to be wanking to the way Draco had looked for weeks. Blond hair falling over his face, eyes fluttering, and his head thrown back exposing his neck.

Draco made Harry insatiable, and after all the teasing before and after dinner, Harry had been desperate for it. The second time they’d had sex had been softer, with Draco riding Harry, but fuck, it had been just as good.  Harry would never get over the fact that he was the only one who got to see Draco like that.

Harry was sleepy after two orgasms and with the alcohol flowing through him, but he rolled over to face Draco, nose to nose.

“Tell me something,” he whispered, reaching up and tracing his thumb across Draco’s sharp cheekbone.

“My arse hurts.”

Harry stuck his tongue out, “Tell me something deep, you idiot.”

Huffing, Draco said, “Do not underestimate the pain in my arse.”

“Naw I’m sorry, want me to kiss it better?” Harry asked, trying to look innocent.

Draco laughed, “Tempting.”

Harry rolled his eyes and kissed Draco’s nose. “Come on, tell me something about you. I want to know you.”

Draco’s eyes softened, and he ran a finger across Harry’s scar, tracing it across his forehead. Harry shivered at the touch. “As a child, I used to have an imaginary friend who I called Harry.” Harry’s eyes widened, but he didn’t say anything; he wanted to hear Draco talk. “And don’t you dare mock me for this, but he was named after you because I thought you were really cool. Mother tried to make me stop, she said Father would hate it, so I kept you my secret. And gosh,” he smiled softly, “when I heard you were on the train that day I was so excited. I thought you’d want to be my friend, and Father said to befriend you because you’d be powerful. I wasn’t thinking of power in that moment, I was just thinking of the fact that my imaginary friend could become real after all the years.”

“Draco,” Harry said, lost for words. He’d never even considered the fact Draco would have genuinely wanted to be his friend all those years ago. One handshake that could have changed so much.

“Embarrassing, I know,” Draco said, chewing on his lip. Harry kissed him softly, understanding that Draco had  swallowed his pride to tell Harry that story. There was also the fact that Draco had clearly never told anyone that before. “I decided when you rejected me that if I couldn’t be your friend, then I would do everything I could to make you regret that decision.”

“I regret it now,” Harry promised, knotting his hand in Draco’s shirt and kissing him. He could have spared Draco so much pain.

Draco shrugged, “What’s in the past is in the past. Now you tell me something.”

“I had an imaginary friend too,” Harry confessed, “strangely enough he wasn’t called Draco. He was called Toby. I never had any friends until I got to Hogwarts, because my cousin used to beat me up and made it clear the same fate lay ahead of anyone who befriended me,” He didn’t tell Draco that he’d once reminded him of Dudley. “And I used to pretend he was with me in my cupboard, and I’d talk to him during my chores. Just generally someone who cared about me.”

Draco frowned, “I really hate your family.”

“Me too,” Harry whispered, “I try not to, but I really do.”

“It’s okay to hate them Harry, it doesn’t make you a bad person. They locked you in a cupboard.”

Harry remembered the moment that he’d wondered whether he would have saved the Dursleys if Voldemort had taken them. Harry still didn’t know the answer.

To change the subject, Harry asked, “Tell me something else.”  

Draco’s brow creased. “My father never locked me in a cupboard or beat me… per se. Merely a well-aimed stinging hex when I didn’t do as he asked or if I failed him…” Draco swallowed. “And when I failed to kill Dumbledore myself, the Dark Lord made him crucio me.” His voice cracked. “He made him crucio me until I thought I’d never stop feeling the aftershocks of the pain.” He let out a bitter laugh, and Harry entwined their fingers. “He told me I should be thankful he didn’t make my father kill me.”

Harry’s breath caught in his throat, and he realized that Voldemort had lost Narcissa Malfoy long before any of them suspected it. She had just been biding her time.

“I didn’t want to come back when I died. I wanted to stay dead, but I knew I had to be the one to end it. I had to.”

“When I woke up in the infirmary after we fought in the bathroom, all I could think was that I was sad you hadn’t managed to do the job properly and end me.”

Harry wanted to apologise, to beg for Draco’s forgiveness, but instead he confessed that still to this day he felt responsible for Sirius’s death.

“No one ever touched me really… when they all stayed here... but they would threaten to.  Passing comments, leers, reminders that I was theirs and one foot out of line and they’d take me. _Too pretty for my own good,_ they’d say. I don’t know who they wanted to hurt more by it, me or my father.”

Harry leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss first to Draco’s forehead, and then his nose, then one to each of his cheeks, and finally he kissed along Draco’s jaw before brushing their lips together. He wanted to promise that he’d never hurt Draco, that he wanted to rip all of the Death Eaters apart one by one. Make them regret it all.

Harry swallowed. “Sometimes I think that something inside me must be wrong because I lived for eighteen years with a part of Voldemort inside me, and that’s not normal.”

They lay there for hours just trading secrets back and forth until they were too tired to keep going. Harry felt stripped bare and vulnerable, but he wasn’t scared. He trusted Draco after all.

* * *

 

“Wake up!” Pansy screamed, bursting into the room gesturing wildly.

“What the fuck!” Draco hissed, sitting up and pulling the covers up. Harry groaned loudly and made sure he wasn’t accidentally flashing anyone as he shoved his glasses onto his face. He hated Slytherins.

Pansy came into focus with Blaise behind her, his usually stoic face contorted with worry.

“Yes?” Draco demanded.

“It’s the _Prophet_ ,” Blaise started as Pansy stormed over to the bed, anger carved into her face as she shoved the paper in Draco’s face.

“I’m going to kill them all,” Pansy whispered. Promised. “I’m going to make every one of them regret the day they were born.

Harry sat up and reached for the paper that Draco had dropped as if it had burned him. Harry blinked at the words once and then again as he read them.

_Malfoy Manipulations: How Far Will Death Eater Go for Freedom?_

And there underneath the title was a picture of Draco and him at the pub. Harry with his trousers around his ankles and Draco on his knees. It was clear as day to everyone what was going on.

Harry froze. They hadn’t come out of the closet, they had been pushed out arse over tit. His blood was roaring in his ears as he stared at the private photo. This changed everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed it!! I will be back either later today or tomorrow morning with the next update because I know this is a bit of a cliff hanger...  
> Anyway as always I love your comments so if you want to leave one it'll mean the world to me and the same for kudos <3


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me...

Harry stared blankly ahead of him as Pansy marched up and down the room yelling. She was threatening to murder everyone who worked at the _Prophet_ , everyone who had ever worked at the _Prophet,_ and everyone who wanted to work at the _Prophet_.

Harry just felt numb. The _Prophet_ had posted a lot of invasive shit about his life before, but they’d never posted him receiving a blow job on the front cover before. They had never delved so far into his personal life like that. He blinked slowly, the mocking title staring up at him. He wanted to burn it, but the wards were up so there was just nothing. His magic wasn’t there.

“Maybe it’s not as bad as we think,” Blaise said, in what Harry thought was not only a particularly out of character statement, but a stupid one. Blaise Zabini must be pretty desperate to say something both kind and stupid.

“Are you mad?” Pansy laughed, throwing her hands up in the air and aiming a particularly vicious kick at the sofa.

“Just trying to help,” Blaise shrugged.

“Well then do something useful like help me plot murder!”

The article took up nearly the entire paper; it seemed the Saviour receiving a blow job from an ex-Death Eater trumped everything else. There were speculations about what had happened between him and Ginny: was he cheating on her? Was it an agreement they’d come to? Were they over? They were well and truly over was the fucking answer, but Harry hadn’t thought he owed it to the world to tell them that.

Had the stress of the war turned Harry into some kind of deviant? What was his relationship status with Draco Malfoy? How had Draco seduced him? Was it a potion or a spell? Was Draco taking advantage of Harry’s post-war vulnerability?

He hated it. He hated them all. It wasn’t fucking fair.

Harry let his gaze fall on Draco, who was curled up on the sofa. He looked emotionless. He looked shattered. Harry’s anger rose again, for Draco this time. Did they not realise everything Draco stood to lose? There was no way his parents wouldn’t find out, and if people thought Harry’s statement was coerced... fuck, he couldn’t even think about it.

He wanted to reach out and hold Draco, but he couldn’t. He’d tried earlier, and Draco had shrugged him off. Harry wanted to say that hadn’t stung, but he couldn’t.

He understood, but it still hurt.

“Who is this inside source that she keeps spouting about?” Pansy sighed, collapsing onto the sofa beside Draco. “Because I’m going to skin them alive.”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?”

Harry turned to look at Draco and Pansy. Pansy was staring at Draco wide-eyed, but Draco was just staring vacantly at the floor.

“It’s not.” Pansy’s voice cracked.

“Yes, it is.”

Harry frowned, he felt he was missing something. He shot a glance at Blaise, whose beautiful face flickered with rage.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” Harry said softly.

Pansy let out a bitter laugh, “I suppose he’s the only one who would know it all. Fuck.”

“I always knew he was slimy,” Blaise sneered.

“Who?” Harry demanded, his voice raising at his frustration of being left out of the loop. He wanted Hermione and Ron, but fuck, he couldn’t go back to the Burrow knowing that they’d have all seen a picture of Draco sucking him off. He couldn’t.

Eyes heavy and dark, Draco raised his head slowly and met Harry’s gaze. “Theo. It was Theo.”

“Nott!” Harry exploded, jumping to his feet. “Why? How?” He’d always known Nott was a fucking git, but he hadn’t known he’d go this far. “Of course, it was,” Harry scoffed, “He’s a fucking Slytherin after all.”

“Oh, and only a Slytherin would do something like this?” Draco’s voice was low and dangerous, and something shuttered across his face. The cold expression left a bitter taste in Harry’s mouth; Draco looked like Lucius.

Harry rubbed the back of his head, “Well no… I mean…”

“You mean a precious Gryffindor wouldn’t dare betray his friends?” There was a manic glint in Draco’s eyes. “What house was Peter Pettigrew in again, Harry? He was a Gryffindor when he betrayed _his_ friends _._ ”

“Dumbledore said he was in the wrong house!” Harry burst out. The memory of Wormtail betraying Harry’s parents left another wave of bitterness. He suddenly felt desperate and itched for a fight in a way that he hadn’t recently. Draco was back under his skin.

A sneer curved across Draco’s face. “So, as I said, only a Slytherin could betray his friends?”

Harry rolled his eyes, “Stop twisting what I said.”

“Stop it you two!” Pansy snapped. Harry crossed his arms and slouched back on the sofa, refusing to look at Draco. “How do you know it was Theo?”

Harry focused all of his attention onto a mark on the floor as Draco began speaking.

“He came to see me after Harry’s and my article was published saying that he saw through our little friendship act and that he knew Potter was screwing me.”

“You didn’t tell me that!” Harry growled, his temper flaring with jealousy. He’d known Draco couldn’t just let go of Nott that easily.

Pansy huffed, “Let him finish!”

He scowled back at her but gestured for Draco to keep talking.

Draco fidgeted. “Basically, we argued, and he threatened to make me regret picking Harry over him. I presumed it was him when the first article dropped, but I hoped he’d give up. Dropping him from the witness list only pissed him off more, it appears. He always was very possessive.” The thoughtful tone of Draco’s voice irked Harry.

Harry tried to bite his tongue, but he’d never been very good at keeping in his emotions, and the thought of Draco hiding something about him and Nott only increased his rage. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it was none of your business!”

“None of my business?” Harry snapped. “Sorry, I forgot that we meant nothing.”

“You’re not my boyfriend, Potter!”

Harry physically recoiled, his fists clenching at his side. He knew he wasn’t Draco’s fucking boyfriend, but he thought they’d fucking mattered. He’d thought it was more than just sex. You didn’t bare your soul to someone without it meaning anything. Except apparently Draco didn’t feel the same. “I wouldn’t want to be your fucking boyfriend, Malfoy,” Harry sneered. He hated how easy it was to fall back into arguing with Draco.

Draco just smiled. There was nothing warm or genuine about it, and Harry felt sick. “Then why are you here?”

“I don’t fucking know,” Harry laughed, dragging a hand through his hair and standing up. “I don’t fucking know,” he repeated, staring at Draco, begging him to take it back.

Draco merely inspected his nails in a bored manner. “I think you’re here because you saw an opportunity for a good shag and took it.”

“How dare you!” Harry snapped, his vision blurring as Draco continued gazing at him as if they were nothing.

“Don’t feel bad, Potter, it was the same for me.”

“Fuck you, Draco!”

“Isn’t that what you’ve been doing?”

Pansy and Blaise said nothing. Harry’s chest heaved as he stared at the Slytherins.

He opened his mouth, desperate to find words. Any words. Anything to fill this silence that was eating him alive, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t find any fucking words, and Draco wasn’t looking at him anymore. So Harry turned and, not daring to look over his shoulder, marched out of the room.

Harry wrapped his anger around himself. It was his favourite and easiest comfort blanket after the War. After everything that happened, slipping back into that humming anger made it easier to focus, easier to override the numbness that threatened to overwhelm him. That silence screaming in his head

“Harry-” Pansy’s voice reached him as he reached the Manor door, finally shattering the silence. “Don’t leave, he didn’t mean it.”

Harry paused, his hand on the door handle. He could turn around now and pretend that none of it had happened. Walk back in and try deal with it all. He understood that Draco was hurting, that he was scared shitless of being outed by the _Prophet,_ but Harry was scared too. Anger at Draco gave him something to focus on other than the fact that everything he’d been clinging to over the last couple of weeks had collapsed.

“Draco always lashes out when he’s hurt. He doesn’t mean it personally.”

“Sounded pretty personal,” Harry said softly, not turning to look at Pansy as he opened the door. “I’m sorry but I can’t.”

He appreciated the fact Pansy didn’t chase him down the Manor drive. He barely had the strength to think as he apparated to the only place he knew he could go.

Number 12 Grimmauld Place appeared in front of him, and he walked inside, welcoming the silence as he collapsed onto the hallway floor.

* * *

Harry was never leaving the house again. He was just going to become a fucking hermit.

All he had done was go to the fucking corner shop to buy some food so he didn’t starve. And three wizards! Three! Had the audacity to come up to him and offer him cures for love potions and the imperius curse. He had hexed the third one,  and he didn’t regret it. Let the papers write about the Chosen One falling off the rails. He didn’t care. He didn’t care at all.

He’d hoped Grimmauld Place would offer him some peace and quiet, but no such luck. It had started with one reporter he’d spotted outside the window a while after he returned from the shops, and within half an hour there were five of them just waiting around outside. He thanked Merlin for Sirius’s paranoid-as-shit family who hadn’t wanted their house to be visible to muggles or unwanted visitors. They could wait as long as they wanted, but they’d never be able to find it.

The thought of the reporters standing around like a bunch of idiots cheered Harry up slightly, and he hoped it would start raining just to make their wait even more painful. However, when it failed to start raining within five minutes, his thoughts started to drift back to Draco. Draco sodding Malfoy, who Harry had been starting to give his heart to. Sure, it hadn’t been very long, but things were always stronger between the two of them. He’d thought they’d mattered.

Draco had told him he hadn’t been with Nott since he and Harry first kissed, but he’d kept the meeting between him and Nott secret. He hadn’t trusted Harry enough to tell him.

Pansy had told him once that Draco never put all of his secrets into one basket; he kept them close to his chest. He would give a few people a couple of secrets that no one else knew, let them think they know him, but in the end they didn’t. Draco would always see it as him against the world, and Harry was tired.

Harry stared at the dark and gloomy house. It wasn’t in an awful state. He knew Kreacher popped in a couple of times a week to clean it, but there was something stale about the house.

Pushing all thoughts of Draco aside, Harry stood up. He was going to make this place liveable again. He was going to clean out all of his fucking ghosts. He was not going to dwell on the fact that he’d been publicly outed by the _Prophet,_ or hurt by Draco.

He rolled up his sleeves and went on the hunt for the muggle cleaning supplies that he, Hermione, and Ron had bought when they were living here during the War. Magic wouldn’t be as satisfying. He was doing this the old-fashioned way.

Harry had only just finished cleaning the entire downstairs and was beginning to trudge upstairs to get started on the bedrooms, when he heard the Floo roar to life and Hermione yelling his name.

“Harry! Harry! Please be here!”

“He’s here, Hermione, don’t worry.” Harry heard Ron’s voice as well, and he recognised the tinge of fear in it. Harry hadn’t thought about what his friends would think of him vanishing.

“But what if he’s not?” Hermione was starting to sound even more frantic, and it hurt Harry to know that he’d done that to them. He hadn’t meant to worry them.

“Up here!” Harry called, setting down the cleaning supplies at the top of the landing just in time to catch Hermione, who threw herself into his arms. He buried his head in her hair that was even more frizzy than usual due to worry, and he felt another pang of guilt. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“We know, mate.” Harry felt Ron’s arms wrap around them both, and he let all the anxiety from the morning melt away. He should have gone to them first, but he’d panicked. He’d been too scared of the Burrow.

They stayed there for a while, just holding each other as they had after the War had ended. He felt safe in their arms because for all the unpredictable shit life threw his way, he would always have them. He would always have Ron and Hermione.

“Oh, Harry, that article was just awful! I can’t believe they were allowed to print it,” Hermione gushed, “I mean honestly, that is just a complete and utter invasion of privacy! There must be rules against it, because even if it wasn’t explicit, it was still private!”

“I don’t know about you both, but I think this conversation go a hell of a lot better with a drink in my hand,” Ron said, wrapping an arm around Hermione’s waist and shooting Harry a nervous smile. Harry nodded; a drink sounded perfect. He didn’t want to even have to think about Draco again until he’d had a drink.

Hermione nodded, chewing on her lip, “Yes, of course. Of course.”

Ron led them both downstairs into Harry’s freshly cleaned sitting room before disappearing in search of alcohol. He returned with a couple of bottles of gin and some old, and no doubt extremely expensive, bottles of wine.

“No shame in drinking from the bottle,” Ron said as Harry picked up the bottle of gin. Harry managed a weak smile at their mantra before taking a large swig. Ron poured Hermione a large glass of wine before settling down himself with the other bottle of gin. “So?”

“So,” Harry sighed, dropping his head into his hands and groaning loudly.

“Have another sip,” Ron prompted.

Harry let out a bitter laugh and took another long sip of gin, welcoming the burn down his throat. He planned on getting so drunk that he couldn’t remember his name.

“So, a picture of me having my cock sucked has made the national news,” Harry said, taking another sip from the bottle. “And not only that, they fucking outed me to the entire wizarding world as if it’s anyone’s business who sucks my cock.”

Ron wrinkled his nose and took a long sip himself.

Hermione downed half her glass of wine at once. “Say what you like about the Blacks, they have excellent taste in wine.”

“Blood supremacists with an incest fetish, but we’ll forgive them for their taste in wine,” Ron grinned, pinching Hermione’s wine glass and taking a sip. She gave him a fond shove. “Fair enough, that is bloody good.”

“The matter at hand, Ronald,” Hermione sighed.

Harry refrained from pointing out he was quite happy to talk about anything that wasn’t the giant dickhead who was Draco Malfoy, but he knew Hermione would never let him get away with it.

“I tried,” Ron mouthed when Hermione wasn’t looking. Harry snickered into his gin.

“So, we went to the Manor first when we saw the article…”

“-- but I wasn’t there. I really am sorry for worrying you.”

Maybe he’d get lucky and the conversation would be left there. Maybe Hermione and Pansy had discussed what had happened. And maybe pigs would fly.

Hermione hummed and took another sip of wine. “Yes, Pansy said you… left after a disagreement with Malfoy?”

“Did you see Draco?” Harry was still concerned about how the git was, even if he was a git. He knew that being forced out the closet would be a lot harder on Draco, as he believed his parents would hate him for it. Harry hoped they’d all be proved wrong.

“No… Pansy said he’d locked himself in his room after you left.” She trailed off waiting for Harry to explain. The problem was he didn’t know where to begin.

Harry ran his hands through his hair and groaned. “Do you know if Lucius and Narcissa know yet?”

“Pansy didn’t know, but she presumed not,” Hermione said.

Harry nodded, “And the public reaction?”

“Not good, mate. People really think he’s managed to get one over you.”

“I thought you said wizards weren’t homophobic?”

“They’re not. The problem isn’t that some guy sucked your dick, it’s-”

“-- it’s who sucked my dick,” Harry finished, and Ron nodded in sympathy.

They all took another long sip of their drinks. He could see Hermione itching to interrogate him further about Draco, but it was Ron who eventually asked:

“And Malfoy? How’d he take it?”

Harry scoffed and topped up his glass. “About as well as you’d expect. He turned into a prickly git and reminded me exactly where I actually stood with him.”

“I’m sure he was just-” Hermione started.

“-- vulnerable? I know, but he’s not the only one who just got fucking shoved out of the closet,” Harry muttered.

“He’s a git,” Ron grumbled, his face twisting.

“He is,” Harry sighed. He’d let himself forget, let himself forget that Draco wasn’t all soft smiles and open confessions in the dark. Draco Malfoy was hard lines, pride, and spite. He wasn’t kind or warm. “He said we were nothing,” he whispered, words catching in his throat, “said it was just a shag.”

“Harry,” Hermione said, moving closer and wrapping her arms around him. He let his head hit her shoulder, trying not to let his emotions overwhelm him.

He glanced up at Ron’s face that was contorted with anger. “I’m going to kill him,” Ron promised, “I’m going to-”

“Ron,” Hermione scolded. Ron closed his eyes for a second and took a long drink.

“Can we talk about something else? I want to get so drunk that I can’t remember the git’s name,” Harry pleaded.

Ron nodded and started discussing the Canons. It was his go-to. Harry let himself be swept away in the conversation. He just wanted to forget.

They slept there that night, all three of them curled up on one of the sofas that Hermione extended, for which Harry was grateful. He couldn’t have faced the Burrow that night, too many sympathetic looks and the risk of Molly believing that Draco really had been manipulating him. He knew Draco hadn’t been manipulating him, that it had been a genuine shag at the least.

Harry missed Draco. They’d spent nearly every night for three weeks together. He missed him. Harry was an idiot.

* * *

Harry pushed his broom faster as he chased after Ginny. He was sure if he could just fly that much faster than usual, a bit more recklessly, then he could push Draco from his head. He dived down, letting the roaring wind fill his head. Anything was better than silence. Anything. He needed anything but that fucking silence.

It had been just under a week since the argument with Draco, and Harry still hadn’t returned to the Manor. He’d been to see Cecelia Greengrass in her office a few times, to cement what he was going to say at the trial, and Hermione had seen Pansy. He just didn’t want to see Draco, not yet.

Ron had suggested returning to the Burrow, but Harry hadn’t been ready for that. So, Hermione had floo-called the Burrow, and Dumbledore’s Army had arrived. They’d spent the entire first day cleaning Grimmauld Place. They’d been exhausted by the time they’d finished, and had taken turns trying to pry and hex Walburga Black off the wall whilst she screamed at them. It had been rather therapeutic, as they took turns screaming back at her. Eventually, Ginny had snapped and punched her in the face. It had left Ginny with a broken hand that Hermione had had to fix, but it had finally shut Walburga Black up.

The next morning, Harry was dragged back to the Burrow, where a tired looking Molly pulled him in for a hug. He wrapped his arms around her, afraid to let go. Afraid that she would change her mind and reject him, but she didn’t. She sobbed into his shoulder and begged for his forgiveness. When he asked why, she said that he would always be welcome at the Burrow, that he was as much her son as any of her biological children, that he should never be afraid to come home.

Home. The Burrow was Harry’s home. He knew that, but it didn’t stop him and Ron and Hermione from stopping by an estate agent after they saw Cecelia. Ron hadn’t mentioned the move to Molly yet. Harry knew that Ron was afraid of breaking his mother’s heart by moving out when Ginny returned to Hogwarts. Ron was afraid of leaving his parents without any of their children at home, especially after the Burrow always being so busy. Harry didn’t envy Ron having to break that news.

The week had continued like that. They were all getting ready for the return to real life once the holidays ended. Ginny, Hermione, Luna, Neville, and Dean would be returning to Hogwarts. Seamus had gotten himself a job at the Leaky Cauldron for now whilst he figured out what he wanted. Meanwhile, Harry and Ron spent most of their time at the Ministry signing up for Auror training, filling out the necessary forms, and undertaking health checks. Other than that, they were with Cecelia looking over witness lists and statements.

The Ministry had officially released their list of witnesses against Draco, and Harry had been shocked to learn that both Theodore Nott and Gregory Goyle had voluntarily signed themselves up. Harry felt sick at the betrayal, and he nearly caved and went to see Draco. However, at the last moment he talked himself out of it. Draco didn’t need or want him. Draco had Pansy and Blaise.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, Luna, and Neville had all been requested to speak against Draco as well, and Harry knew that they had to. Luckily, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Luna were also defending Draco.

The trial was in a week. Harry didn’t let himself think about it too much. Hermione was hinting that Harry ought to visit Draco, but he couldn’t.

He dived deep out of Dean’s way, trying to ignore the tugging in his stomach as the life-debt demanded he fulfil his promises. He was fulfilling them; he was still helping save Draco. However, he knew that was a half-truth, because he wasn’t doing it to the best of his abilities anymore. The sensation in his stomach subsided whenever he went to see Cecelia, but it never really vanished. The magic knew he was being a cop out.

Just over one week until Draco went on trial. One week and it was all over. One fucking week. Harry pushed his broom faster and let the wind carry his thoughts away.

* * *

 

“I’ve been thinking,” Hermione said, as they curled up on the sofa to watch the TV that Arthur had installed yesterday.

“When aren’t you?” Ron said, at the same time Harry said, “Oh no.”

They threw each other lazy grins as Hermione tutted at them both.

“As I was saying, I’ve been thinking, and Harry I think you ought to write a letter and publish it in the _Quibbler_.”

“Not the _Prophet_?” Ron interrupted.

Hermione sniffed. “Absolutely not. I refuse to endorse the spectacle they’ve made of themselves since releasing that Harry-Draco article.”

The _Prophet_ had not stopped talking about Harry and Draco all week, alternating between Draco’s deviousness and Harry’s sexuality. Harry burnt every copy he saw without reading them. Hermione had read them all before burning them dramatically and beginning another rant about the freedom of the press taking things too far.

Harry was tired of being talked about.

“I’d really rather not,” he said, curling his legs up under him.

Hermione nodded sympathetically. “I know, but I’m thinking that’s part of this letter. It doesn’t have to be long. Just clarify that you’re tired of all the attention and would love your privacy. Throw in a couple of comments about Draco, and your relationship being genuine, and that it’s none of their business.”

“A fuck you letter?” Ron asked.

“A polite fuck you letter,” Hermione corrected.

Harry supposed he could do that. He knew he needed to do more than merely issue a statement that Draco had not put him under any kind of spell or potion, and that it was an insult to suggest so. Harry could have said something stronger, but Hermione had made him do it the day after the article dropped, and he was still too bitter at Draco to say anything nicer.

Another wave of resentment hit Harry, and he treasured it, not wanting to think about how much he felt the loss of Draco’s presence.

“So,” Hermione prompted.

“Yeah, sure,” Harry said, managing a weak smile. Maybe then people would leave him alone. He wasn’t going to make a very good auror if people kept asking him for autographs whenever he interviewed them.

“Good,” Hermione nodded, pulling out a pad and pen from her bag and holding them out to him, “might as well start now.”

Harry groaned and exchanged a look with Ron, who shrugged apologetically. There was no getting out of this now.

Harry inhaled the takeaway fish and chips that Seamus and Dean had bought everyone upon their return from London. It hadn’t even gotten cold during the apparition.

Harry had spent all day with Hermione writing a letter to the public asking for his privacy and offering a couple of extra details about his life to satisfy their curiosity. He hadn’t wanted to give them any extra information at all, but Hermione had argued it was the best way forward. Give them enough details to make them feel guilty for invading his life. Give them clues into what the war took from him and how he was trying to find himself. Ron’s idea of just writing ‘Go fuck yourselves’ had been vetoed, much to Harry’s disappointment.

* * *

 

“Oi, Harry, I swear you never took your apparition test?” Ron said through a mouthful of chips.

Harry dragged his eyes from the TV and grinned, “I don’t think I did.”

Ginny let out a bark of laughter from where she was curled up with Luna. “So, you’re telling me you’re just apparating around the country illegally?”

“Guess so.”

“Amazing,” Ginny said.

Seamus shook his head and laughed, “Only you, Harry.”

“Suppose no one wants to be _that guy_ that tells the Saviour of the wizarding world that he’s technically breaking the law,” Ginny said.

“Can you imagine?” Ron scoffed, reaching over and nicking one of Hermione’s chips when she wasn’t looking, despite having a full plate of his own.

Hermione sighed, “You should probably take that test, Harry.”

Ginny pulled a face. “Are you kidding me? I say he sees how long it takes someone to clock on.”

“He’s about to start working for the Ministry!” Hermione looked absolutely scandalised.

“Even better,” Ginny grinned.

“Shot gun, arresting you,” Ron said, leaning over and high fiving Harry, much to Hermione’s dismay.

“Harry!”

“I’ll take the test eventually…”

Hermione raised her eyebrows, and Harry grinned at her. He’d take the test if the Ministry asked him, but for now it was easier not to do so. Also, he agreed with Ginny and Ron: it was entertaining seeing how long it would take for anyone to ask him about it.

“Bets on how long it takes for the Ministry to pluck up the courage to speak to Harry,” Seamus said, and they began placing their bets.

This was soon interrupted when they heard Molly Weasley screaming at someone to get off her property. They all stumbled over themselves, grabbing their wands and racing into the kitchen to find Molly face-to-face with Pansy Parkinson. Harry was filled with a horrible sense of deja vu.

“Hullo, Pansy,” Harry nodded, crossing his arms and lowering his wand. One by one they all lowered their wands, but Ron and Ginny wore matching expressions of distaste. Pansy siding with Draco had done nothing for her in the Weasleys’ eyes.

“Hello, Harry, I’ve come to speak to you… again,” Pansy said with a bitter smile. She clearly also remembered the last time she was here. It felt so long ago that it was hard to believe it had only been just under two months. “Will you lower your wand?” she sighed, turning to look at Mrs Weasley.

Molly’s mouth tightened. “I will not have you on my property.”

“Molly,” Hermione prompted softly.

“I mean honestly, I thought we got over this the first time,” Pansy sighed, inspecting her nails. She looked very small without Blaise and Nott flanking her, but she was no less intimidating. She was possibly even more intimidating this time around. “Is this still about me trying to turn Harry over to the Dark Lord? Because I thought we were all over that.” She flicked her dark hair over her shoulder and gave them all a bland smile.

“Pansy,” Hermione prompted, but Pansy wasn’t done yet.

“I have apologised,” she continued, “I have said that I was scared, and that I made a mistake.”

“You only say that because it failed!” Molly wept, “You tried to kill Harry! That boy is like a son to me, and you tried to kill him.”

“It’s okay, Molly,” Harry said, his voice catching in his throat at the raw emotion on Mrs Weasley’s face. He reached out and squeezed her shoulder

“It is not! I lost one son to the War, if she’d made me lose you too… I couldn’t…” Tears were streaming down Mrs Weasley’s face. “You were all too young!”

“We were,” Pansy said.

“Not you!”

Pansy let out a wicked laugh, “Was I not a child too? Was I not afraid for my safety as well? Was I not thinking about my family and friends too?” Her bottom lip trembled, the only clue to the emotional storm brewing. “Tell me something, Mrs Weasley,” her voice dropped to that low, dangerous tone Draco’s took sometimes. “Look me in the eye and tell me you wouldn’t have sacrificed me, sacrificed Draco, sacrificed anyone who probably meant anything to _me_ if it meant keeping the ones you love safe. Tell me you wouldn’t be willing to hand over someone who meant less than nothing to you to keep the ones you loved safe.” Pansy was significantly smaller than Molly, but she raised her chin and met the older woman’s eyes evenly. “I didn’t want a War, I just wanted it all to end.” She flashed Harry a bitter smile, “And when I saw a way out, I suggested it.”

No one spoke. They had all been stunned silent by Pansy’s words. Harry had forgiven her a while back. However, he had never understood her, and now he did.

One person to end a war. It made sense. Harry had made the same decision himself in the end. His life to end the War. His life to make Voldemort stop. He’d do it again, just as he knew Pansy would if the situation reoccurred. It didn’t make her a bad person, it just meant she had different priorities.

“Think about that next time you want to talk about things you don’t understand,” Pansy sniffed, turning back to Harry, “Remember we all made hard choices in the War, and now we live with them.”

Harry noticed how Pansy’s eyes shifted to Ginny who smiled at her. It was a thin-lipped smile but a smile nonetheless.

“Now Potter, I want a word with you outside.” Ron made a move to go with Harry, but Pansy held up a hand. “You can all trust that if I haven’t murdered him yet, then he’s safe with me.”

Ron glanced at Harry, and he nodded. He would be fine with Pansy.

“Stay with your mum,” Harry mouthed. Ron nodded and wrapped an arm around a sobbing Mrs Weasley, and Hermione moved to put the kettle on.

“Good luck,” Ginny mouthed before turning to console her mother. Harry gave her a small smile. He was still sure that Pansy, Ginny, and Hermione could conquer the world if the three of them worked together.

He followed Pansy outside as she marched far enough away that anyone eavesdropping wouldn’t be able to hear them. Harry threw up a muffliato spell as well, just in case. He didn’t know what Pansy was going to say.

“What the fuck is your problem, Potter?” Pansy demanded, spinning around, her hands on her hips. Harry had to admit he hadn’t been expecting that.

“My problem?” he spluttered.

“Yes, your problem,” she said, slowly using her ‘Potter is an idiot’ voice. He hated that bloody voice. All the goddamn Slytherins used it.

He pushed his glasses back up his nose. “I don’t think I understand.”

Pansy let out a long, tired sigh before glaring at him again. “You left him.”

“I left him?” Harry repeated, he was sure he was getting this wrong. “He told me we were meaningless!”

“He was obviously lashing out.”

“Oh, obviously!”

“Don’t take that tone with me, Potter,” Pansy scowled. “Not one word all week! He gets outed by the national paper and you don’t even think about the fallout this has in his life!”

“His life?”

“Yes, his life!” Pansy sighed, “Look, I understand it was undesirable for you too-”

“Undesirable is putting it a bit fucking lightly.”

“-- but you have a good support system! He has me, Blaise, and you! Theo and Greg have sided against him and won’t fucking explain why, and you leave as well… His parents haven’t spoken to him all week, he literally has not left his fucking room! I don’t know what he’s been eating, because I have seen him twice!” Her voice cracked, and her love for Draco shone through, the Slytherin mask left in tatters. “You were his hope of a better life, Harry. Now he thinks he’s going to die.”

Harry wrapped his arms around himself. He thought Pansy was being a little unfair.

“I tried to be there, and he pushed me away. He said I was only a shag! He didn’t tell me about Nott!”

“There is nothing between Theo and Draco anymore! And Merlin’s beard, he was lying! He was pushing you away.”

Harry knew that really, he knew there was nothing between Draco and Nott, but Draco keeping it from him had still stung.

“Why? I was going to be there for him. I would have been there for him!”

Pansy sighed and bit her lip. “Just trust me when I say that he thought he was doing the right thing.”

“The right thing?”

Pansy shrugged, “He lashed out and was stupid, but it was one of the least selfish things I’ve seen Draco do. He cares about you, Harry. Go prove you care about him.”

“I don’t understand,” Harry said, dragging his hands through his hair. Pansy’s entire time here had confused him. What was happening?

Pansy offered him a small smile. “Just go see him and talk. _Actually_ talk and you will.”

“Can’t you explain?”

She shook her head. “You ought to hear it from him.” She turned to leave and gave him a vicious smile. “If you don’t go and sort things out with him, then my next visit won’t be so pleasant.” That flash of white teeth assured him that she wasn’t joking.

He stood there dumbly, his head reeling, as she apparated away. Pansy Parkinson was a whirlwind of a person whom he wasn’t sure he’d ever understand. He was sure Slytherins were more difficult to understand than other people.

Draco hadn’t meant what he said and in fact was trying to do something good? Or at least what Draco thought was good? Harry was Draco’s hope? Harry should have gone to Draco? He supposed the last one was fair enough, as Draco couldn’t leave the house.

Harry felt a stab of pity at the fact that Draco had locked himself in his room and thought he was going to die. Draco thought that the public would perceive him so badly because he was with Harry that his chances at acquittal were shot. Maybe that was why Draco had pushed Harry away? Draco thought his chance of survival was less if the public thought he was screwing their Saviour. Harry pushed the thought from his mind. It didn’t fit with what Pansy had said. Not that anything Pansy had said had made sense. He knew one thing, though. He had to see Draco.

“You okay, mate?” Ron’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.

“Been better, how’s your mum?” Harry said with a weak smile.

Ron’s nose wrinkled. “She’s been better… I think what Pansy said really got to her. She’d never really thought of their side before.”

Harry nodded, “I think we all forgot about their side.”

“We were all just kids,” Ron sighed, rubbing his nose, “Fucking hell, remember how simple things were back in first year?”

“I don’t think things have ever been simple for us,” Harry said. He’d been fighting Voldemort since he was eleven. He didn’t know the meaning of a normal life

“Suppose not,” Ron laughed.

Harry wondered if after Draco’s trial his life would be less complicated. Would his life ever be less complicated? He doubted anything involving Draco Malfoy would be simple, but he didn’t mind that. He’d never been good with simple.

“You should go to him,” Ron said.

“Sorry?”

Ron gave him a knowing look, “You’ve got your ‘Thinking about Malfoy’ face on, and whatever Parkinson said was clearly about him,” Ron shrugged, “So go. I’ll tell everyone that Pansy didn’t kidnap you.”

Harry grinned ruefully, he did want to see Draco.

“Go,” Ron sighed, “I can’t believe I’m encouraging this, but you seem to make each other happy. He’s good for you,” he pulled a face, “Merlin, I can’t believe I said that.”

Ron admitting that Draco was good for Harry was all he needed to hear. He wanted to see Draco Harry had missed him this week. Draco made him feel grounded and helped silence that buzzing the War left. Harry turned to leave just as Ron added one more thing:

“But tell the Ferret that if he hurts you again, I’ll kill him,” Ron said, trying to seem nonchalant.

Harry beamed at him, wondering if Ron would hit him if Harry told him that he and Pansy had more in-common than they thought.

“Of course,” he promised, before thinking of the Manor and apparating with a loud crack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The angst!! Ahh!! I am sorry!!!  
> Please let me know if you enjoyed it as all comments and kudos are the bestest :)


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, I just want to say a massive thankyou for all of your lovely comments and kudos on this fic. This fic has dominated my entire summer hols and seeing that you all are enjoying it makes my heart sing. I honestly love and appreciate every reader.  
> However, I'm really sorry but I am going to have to let you down slightly as tomorrow morning I leave for travelling around Europe for two weeks, which means there will be a two week gap before I can post the next chapter. My beta and I have been working around the clock to try and get as many updates to you as possible before now to leave you in the best place for the story and I think this chapter will do that for you.  
> So please enjoy the chapter and all kudos, comments etc are appreciated immensely. I will still be able to reply to your comments, I just wont have my laptop so can't post the chapters.  
> I am really honestly sorry for my lack of timing control so please dont hate me <3

Striding up towards Malfoy Manor, Harry was forced to acknowledge that he hadn’t thought this plan through at all. He had not even the slightest hint of what he was going to say to Draco past ‘What the fuck is your problem?’ Harry always had been too headstrong. Maybe he ought to listen to Hermione more. Develop a plan, stick to the plan. He grinned at the thought; he’d done alright never planning anything so far. Also, whenever he did try to make plans they failed —  spectacularly.

It was only after knocking on the door that he remembered that Draco was refusing to leave his room, and that meant Harry was most likely to be confronted with…

“Hello, Mr Potter.”

He cringed, there it was.

“Hello, Mrs Malfoy,” he said, unable to meet her eyes. Her son made national news for sucking his dick. There was no way he was ever going to be able to look her in the eyes again. He quite fancied the world opening up and swallowing him whole at this point.

“Have you been busy this week?”

Harry frowned, “Sorry?”

“You’ve been noticeably absent, which seemed strange with Draco’s trial two weeks away. I presume the reason you were gone was that you were busy?”

Harry was confused. Again. He would have said it was pretty obvious that the reason he hadn’t been here was because he had been put on the front cover of the national paper having his dick sucked… By Draco Malfoy…

“Yeah, been sorting everything out for when summer ends, you know…”

“I can’t say I do,” her tone was even icier than usual, and Harry truly wanted to spontaneously combust. Could you cast avada kedavra on yourself? If he weren’t inside the Manor wards, he would be sorely tempted. Surely even he wasn’t lucky enough to survive it three times. “I presumed you’d be here trying to fulfil your life-debt.”

He ran a hand through his hair, “I know, I’m sorry.”

Her mouth twitched as she regarded him, and Harry felt like a bug under a microscope. He felt a stab of pity for all those insects in science class. “Well, Draco certainly hasn’t taken your absence well.”

They were actually going to have this conversation. For a second, Harry debated snapping at her that it was rude to keep him standing outside, but he decided against it. Merlin, he’d spent too much time with Draco.

Sighing, he said, “I don’t think it’s been my absence alone that’s upset Draco.”

“No, I suppose you’re right,” she said, mouth twitching. That icy mask fractured just enough for Harry to spot the mother in Narcissa shining through. “I’ve tried to speak to him, but he will not let me in.”

Harry wanted to die. He was not the person for Narcissa Malfoy to have this conversation with. Couldn’t she have spoken to Pansy? Blaise? Her husband? The lawyer? Anyone but him? Hermione would have been better; in fact, the only person who would be worse in this situation than Harry was Ron. This thought brought him little comfort.

“Oh,” he said stupidly.

Luckily Narcissa didn’t seem to need his contribution much. “He is my son, Mr Potter.  I know you think very little of me, but that fact alone trumps anything, his sexual preferences included,” she raised her eyebrow at him, and he felt his cheeks burn red, “and whoever those sexual preferences include.”

 _That’s good_ , Harry wanted to say. He wanted to nod politely and run, but instead his stupid mouth didn’t connect with his brain and blurted out, “And your husband?”

Narcissa’s mouth twitched, “My husband will come around.”

“He doesn’t have very long to.” Harry really felt he should stop but he couldn’t seem to.

“He doesn’t; however, he loves our son.”

“Doesn’t seem that way.” Why did Harry keep saying things? Narcissa was about to throw him out. He was about to be kicked out of the Manor before he could make up with Draco, and it would be all his fault for not shutting up. “Does Draco know this?”

Narcissa sighed and smoothed down a non-existent wrinkle on her robes. “He refuses to come out of his room, but hopefully he will let you in.”

Was Narcissa giving him her blessing? He presumed she’d be far too homophobic to do that.

“I know what you’re thinking, but I will not lose my son over something so trivial.”

Harry never had been very good at hiding what he was thinking.

“Does Lucius know this?” Harry repeated the question, cocking his head curiously.

“My husband has made many decisions that I have followed without question when perhaps I should have,” Harry wasn’t sure he was breathing as she paused, “I will not let that happen again.”

Harry met those pale blue eyes and saw the pain shining through, the regret for things she let happen, for things she couldn’t or didn’t stop. He wasn’t sure he understood it, all but he understood enough; Narcissa would not let Draco’s sexuality break their family apart. The Malfoys had enough forces arrayed against them. They did not need to turn on each other as well.

“He’s upstairs,” Narcissa said, standing back and gesturing for Harry to go. “I hope you can sort everything out, Mr Potter.”

Harry nodded, shoved his hands in his pockets, and started to walk past Narcissa. He turned at the last minute and gave her a tentative smile, “I think it’s time you called me Harry.”

Narcissa gazed at Harry and let out a soft laugh, “You’re a curious man, Mr Pot- Harry,” she corrected, a small smile playing at her lips.

“You’re a curious woman,” Harry returned, the words slipping out. He thought he’d pushed her too far, but she just laughed and gestured for him to run along. It was the first real genuine laugh he’d heard out of Narcissa Malfoy, and it was a nice sound. He didn’t think she’d appreciate him telling her she should laugh more, but for a minute he was tempted.

* * *

 

Harry let out a loud groan as his fist connected with the door for the 100th time in five minutes. “I know you’re in there Draco! You can’t ignore me forever!”

Silence was the only answer, and Harry gave the door a particularly vicious kick before sliding down against it. Draco sodding Malfoy couldn’t make anything easy.

“Open the fucking door, or I’ll break it down,” Harry huffed, dropping his head into his arms. He was starting to understand how the big bad wolf felt in the tale of the three pigs. All the pigs had to do was open the fucking door.

He flung his fist upwards connecting with the door, “On the count of three!” He threatened, hitting it again. “Three, two-”

“Don’t you fucking dare!” A sharp retort cut Harry off, and despite his irritation, Harry couldn’t help but grin at the sound of Draco’s plummy voice, even if it was laced with anger.

Harry smiled dumbly at the door, “Let me in please Draco.” There was silence again. “I want to talk.”

“Talk to the door.” The voice came from right behind him.

Harry turned around and rested a hand against the door. He liked to think Draco was sat facing it like he was. It was a shame he couldn’t make the door invisible and see him. It was pathetic how much he missed Draco after such a short time, but it was true.

“I’d really rather talk to you,” Harry said softly. A huff was the only response he got. “I’ll start singing,” he threatened, leaning back against the wall and facing the door. Silence. “I’m warning you, I’ve spent all summer with Molly Weasley and Luna Lovegood; I am an expert at Celestina Warbeck! ‘A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love’ is my specialty!”

Draco still said nothing, much to Harry’s irritation. He didn’t actually want to start singing Celestina Warbeck, and he didn’t actually know it that well. He knew the War memorial song and the ‘Ode to Our Saviour’ much better because of Seamus, Ginny, and Luna.

“I’m warning you! I will start singing an ‘Ode to Our Saviour!” Harry said, giving the door a gentle kick. “All you’ve got to do is let me in…”

The door didn’t open, so Harry took a deep breath and began:

“There once was a boy, eyes as green as ripe apples, and hair as dark as night,” god Harry hated himself right now but the door didn’t budge, so he was forced to continue, “Bravest of brave, greatest of great...” There was the distinctive taste of sick in his mouth as he continued the chorus, singing obnoxiously, “But only he who defeated the Dark Lord holds my heart!” he wailed, extending his arms out as he performed.

The door flew open to reveal a seething Draco, “Will you shut up?” Draco hissed, stomping his foot. “Only you would have the audacity to sing a song written about how great you are,” he muttered.

“Just wanted you to open the door,” Harry said, gazing up at Draco. He looked like shit. He was pale and skinny again. There was a grey sheen to his skin, and his lanky-looking hair was pushed back by a pink aliceband. He was dressed only in black boxers and a too-large grey jumper that slipped off one shoulder.

“Well, I’ve opened it.”

Harry nodded, “I can see that, can I come in?”

Draco glared at him for a moment before storming off into his room; however, he didn’t slam the door in Harry’s face, so Harry took that as encouragement to follow him.

The room was the messiest Harry had ever seen it, with dirty plates littered around and Draco’s clothes abandoned all over the place. Harry wrinkled his nose at a half-eaten meal in the corner; someone had to teach Draco to wash up.

Harry glanced up from the floor to find Draco glaring at him still. Harry wanted to reach out and stroke his face, but he kept his hands by his sides.

“We need to talk,” he said eventually, when it became clear that Draco wasn’t going to say anything.

Draco sneered, “And here I presumed you merely wanted to stand here in silence.”

Harry refrained from hitting him. Standing here in front of Draco, Harry didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how to apologise for leaving Draco to deal with the fallout alone all week, for not fighting further for him. Harry’s head spun as he met those grey eyes.

“So speak.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, biting on his lip. “I’m sorry for what happened with the _Prophet._ I’m sorry you got outed, that we got outed before we were ready, I’m sorry for overreacting about you not telling me about Nott, I’m sorry for leaving, and most of all… I’m sorry for not coming back.”

“I told you to leave.”

“Doesn’t mean I should have,” Harry said, taking a careful step closer to Draco. He took another when Draco didn’t back away. “And I certainly shouldn’t have stayed away.”

“I wanted you to stay away.” This time Draco’s words didn’t hurt him.

“I don’t believe you, not really,” Harry said. He stepped closer to Draco again.

Draco’s face flickered with something that Harry didn’t recognise. “I did! I didn’t want you to come back!”

“Why?”

Draco said nothing, his shoulders slumping.

“Why didn’t you want me to come back?” Harry pressed. He had closed the gap between them now, and slowly he reached up and cupped Draco’s face. “Why didn’t you want me to come back, Draco?” he repeated. Draco’s warm breath was on his face.

“I- I-” Draco’s bottom lip trembled, and Harry brushed his thumb across it. Draco’s breath caught at the touch. “I’m going to lose this trial, Harry.”

Any composure Draco had been maintaining since Harry entered the room melted away with that statement. Harry felt the fight going out of the other boy and it was heartbreaking.

“I’m going to lose, and I’m going to die,” Draco’s voice caught in his throat, and Harry shook his head desperately. “I am, I’m either going to rot in a cell beside my mother, or I’m going to have my soul sucked out alongside my father.”

“You’re not.”

“I am! They hate me! They all hate me, and I deserve it! I-”

“The point of this trial is to prove that you can change, to prove that you are changing,” Harry said.

Draco shook his head, a blond strand falling across his face. “It’s not enough. They want me gone, and you can’t stop them, I didn’t want…”

“Didn’t want what?” Harry prompted, tucking that strand of blond hair behind Draco’s ear.

“I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want you to be hurt when we lost.”

Pansy’s words rang in Harry’s head about how Draco sending him away was the most selfless thing Draco had ever done. Draco hadn’t wanted Harry to be hurt because Draco didn’t think there was hope.

“You fucking idiot,” Harry sighed.

Draco recoiled, “I’m sorry, what?”

Harry shook his head, stepping back closer to Draco. “You didn’t want me to be hurt.” Despite everything there was a dumb smile on Harry’s face.

Draco furrowed his brow. “Yes, I know. After seven years of doing everything I could to hurt you, I couldn’t take it anymore.”

“Not seven years,” Harry corrected, “just six.”

“You idiot,” Draco huffed, managing a weak laugh.

Harry wrapped his arms around Draco until they were standing nose to chin (Draco’s height advantage was growing on him) and gazed up into those grey eyes – except they weren’t grey, they were liquid silver and so beautifully warm. “You’re not going to hurt me because we’re going to win this trial. I’m not letting you go anywhere.” Harry was too desperate to see where he and Draco went for that. He had already fallen too deeply. Enemies to friends to lovers was a lot of emotional turmoil for two months after all.

“You can’t promise that.”

“But I do,” Harry whispered.

“You bloody Gryffindor,” Draco said, but there was a light in his face again. Harry now knew that light was hope. “And I’m sorry for all I said, I didn’t mean it.”

“I know.” Harry smiled and traced his thumb across Draco’s jaw. “I’d like to kiss you now, if you’ll let me.”

Draco closed the gap between their lips. “Yes,” he whispered into Harry’s mouth.

This kiss was more intense than any they’d ever shared, and yet it was the gentlest yet. The two of them hungrily explored each other’s mouths, remembering the firm lines of each other’s bodies and becoming one.

They moved to the bed, and Harry pulled Draco down on top of him, an idea forming in his mind as he kissed along Draco’s jaw, drinking in the soft noises Draco made. How funny to think he’d come to love the fact Draco never shut up.

“Harry,” Draco whispered in his ear, and Harry decided he wanted to bottle the way his name sounded falling from Draco’s mouth. He wondered if he should be scared. He didn’t think so. “Harry,” Draco repeated, a bit firmer this time.

Harry pulled back, brows furrowed, “What?”

Draco swallowed, his fingers tracing Harry’s scar, “I want to show you how much I trust you.”

Cocking his head to the side, Harry said, “I know you trust me.”

“I still want to do this,” Draco said, biting on his lip, his fingers going to the bottom of his jumper.

Harry froze and covered Draco’s hands with his. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Draco nodded, “I want to show you that you matter to me.”

The words hit Harry hard. They’d never said anything about being explicitly exclusive, but Harry wanted it. The thought of Draco with anyone, let alone Nott, twisted him up into pieces. He hadn’t realised how much he wanted it to be just the two of them until then.

“Thank you,” Harry whispered, leaning up and kissing Draco softly, taking his hands from Draco’s.

Draco started to lift his jumper and Harry was pretty sure he’d never seen anything more erotic in his life than that sliver of skin that Draco revealed above his boxers. Harry bit his lip to stop himself reaching out and pulling Draco’s jumper off. No one had ever driven him this mad. Actually, that was incorrect. Draco had always driven him this mad, just for different reasons.

Draco paused, and Harry nearly whined in displeasure. “Promise me you won’t overreact?” Harry frowned, suddenly remembering that something other than beautiful pale skin lurked under Draco’s shirt.  Judging from Draco’s fear and Lucius’ blatant disgust, Harry remaining calm would be difficult.

Draco gave him a firm look, and Harry nodded; he’d do his best.

Draco’s sigh suggested that Harry wasn’t very convincing, but Draco continued lifting up his jumper. He peeled it over his head, and Harry let his eyes focus on what should be a perfect, if skinny, pale chest.

His breath caught in his throat, and he reached forward before recoiling at the sight of the hateful branding above Draco’s heart. _Traitor_. It was carved there in red letters, not too dissimilar from the _mudblood_ on Hermione’s arm. However, whilst Hermione’s had been treated with dittany and faded to a soft pink, Draco’s was still an angry red.

Harry’s eyes caught a thin silver scar that flickered below it. He followed the scar down to the centre of Draco’s torso. There, in the centre, was a star-like explosion of scars that streaked across Draco’s chest and stomach, ending just by his hip bones at the bottom and his shoulders at the top. Harry blinked stupidly.

“Me,” he forced the confession from his lips as he met Draco’s eyes, “I did this to you.”

“Not the _traitor_. The Dark Lord did that himself after I failed to identify you that night. I don’t know what he did exactly but it won’t fade-”

Harry barely took in Draco’s words as his eyes traced the scars that he’d left that day in the bathroom. He had done this. He had marked Draco forever.

“I nearly killed you.”

Draco sighed and reached out for Harry’s hand, but he flinched away. “I knew you’d react like this if you'd known it had scarred.”

Harry couldn’t help but keep going back to the starburst explosion in the centre. “I didn’t know- I didn’t know.”

“I know you didn’t,” Draco’s voice was soft, but all Harry could hear was Draco’s cries that day in the bathroom. If Snape hadn’t come in...

 

He finally raised his gaze, following those scars up until he met Draco’s eyes.

“Why don’t you hate me?”

“The same reason you don’t hate me,” Draco whispered, leaning forward and clasping Harry’s hands. “We’ve done awful things to each other, Harry. Let’s leave them in the past.”

Harry nodded dumbly, “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” Draco promised, leaning forward and claiming Harry’s lips in a soft kiss.

Harry let Draco kiss away his doubt and then a bit more. He kissed Draco until his lips were numb and his brain fuzzy and then he kissed his way down Draco’s chest, tracing his tongue across each one of those scars. Covering up every inch of horror with affection. Until he was pulling Draco’s boxers down and taking the other boy in his mouth.

Draco’s noises were music to his ears as Harry eagerly sucked him down. It was only when Draco started making those whimpering noises and was close to coming, that he pulled off with a soft pop.

“You better have a good reason for stopping,” Draco growled, or tried to. The effect was defeated by his hands fisted in the sheets, his cheeks pink and his eyes lust-blown.

Harry leaned up and placed a soft kiss on the starburst of scars. “I want you to fuck me tonight.”

Draco blinked dumbly, and Harry relished having stunned Draco into silence. It wasn’t something he often achieved. It wasn’t something anyone often achieved.

“This isn’t because you feel guilty, is it?” Draco frowned, pushing himself up on his elbows.

Harry shook his head and pressed a kiss just under the brand _traitor_. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and I want to show you that you matter to me,” he promised, repeating Draco’s earlier words back to him. He wished he had a camera to capture the soft smile on Draco’s face. “You’re gorgeous,” Harry murmured, kissing Draco’s chest.

Draco scoffed, but Harry shook his head firmly. “Every inch of you is beautiful, and another time I’m going to kiss you all over to prove it but now,” he leaned back with a rakish grin, “I want you inside of me.”

Draco nodded numbly and pulled Harry in for a sloppy kiss before undressing him. When Draco finally inserted a long, elegant finger inside Harry, it was slow and it hurt, but Draco was gentle and whispered sweet nothings in Harry’s ear about how hot he was, and how good he looked, and how much he was going to love it. It was Draco’s voice that got Harry hard again every time he started to wilt. And by the time Draco rolled over and pulled on a condom - Harry had introduced them after their first time (Hermione had had a fit when she realised they couldn’t use protective spells) – Harry was begging for it.

“Breathe,” Draco whispered in his ear, and Harry gazed up into those silver eyes feeling some of the tension seeping out of him. Draco lined himself up and Harry’s breath caught at the feeling. “Your eyes will be the death of me.” Harry snapped his eyes open and bit his lip hard. He could feel Draco’s hand on his cock that had again wilted slightly, working it back to hardness. Slowly but surely Draco moved until he was the whole way in, and Harry was fully hard again.

Harry pressed a soft kiss to Draco’s nose, gasping at the shift he felt as he leaned up.

“You okay?” Draco whispered, Harry could see his arms shaking with the effort of not moving, that black mark standing out. All of Draco’s scars were beautiful in a strange way. They told his story just as Harry’s did.

He nodded, “You can move.” He let out a shaky breath as Draco began moving. It was strange, the feeling of someone else inside him. However, bit by bit, movement by movement, it became easier until it became really, really fucking good.

Draco’s orgasm hit far too soon in Harry’s view, but he came with shouting Harry’s name. Draco wrapped his hand around Harry’s prick and started to finish him off, still whispering in his ear about how good he was, about how good he’d felt, and Harry didn’t last much longer.

“We’re doing that again,” Harry murmured against Draco’s lips as they collapsed together on the bed.

“Try and stop me,” Draco laughed back, curling up against him. They fit perfectly, long legs entwined and their sweaty foreheads pressed together.

“You’ve a dirty mouth, you know,” Harry teased. The contrast between Draco’s elegant drawl and the filth he said during sex was funny. Harry loved it; he never wanted Draco to stop talking. Sometimes…

Draco leaned over and kissed him sloppily. “Get us a towel, will you?”

Harry gave him a shove. “You get us a towel, it’s your come leaking out of me.”

Draco wrinkled his nose. “You’re foul, and it’s your come over both of us.”

“‘Cause of you,” Harry murmured, his eyes starting to droop.

Draco huffed and wrapped his arms around Harry. “Don’t you dare fall asleep before you clean us off!”

Harry wanted to stay awake and squabble more, but his eyes fluttered shut and he drifted off.

* * *

 

Harry awoke an hour or so later to find Draco staring at him, “Creep,” he muttered, giving Draco a bat with his hand.

“You’re much nicer when you’re asleep,” Draco grumbled.

Harry gave a sleepy smile, “You’re one to talk.”

“Dick,” Draco said, shaking his head and pressing a kiss to Harry’s scar. Harry liked Draco’s small touches.  Maybe they didn’t walk around hand-in-hand or hug every other second, but every small touch from Draco meant ten times more.

Harry stuck his tongue out. He felt a lot better after his post-sex nap even if there was a dull ache in his arse.

“Did you sleep?” Harry asked, rolling over and leaning his head on his hand to prop himself up.

Draco shook his head, “Just did some reading.”

“Another nerdy history book?”

Draco flicked him and Harry yelped, causing Draco to snicker. “It is not nerdy.”

“Kinda nerdy.”

“Have I told you how much I hate you?”

“Not recently,” Harry grinned, trying to smooth his hair slightly.

Draco’s eyes caught the action. “Well, I do. And I hate your ridiculous sex hair.”

“You hate my sex hair?”

“Yes,” Draco said, a smirk curling up at his lips, “because it makes me want you again.”

Harry laughed, “Sounds like you don’t hate my sex hair then.”

Draco nodded, “I do.”

Leaning in and kissing Draco softly, Harry whispered, “I don’t think you do.”

“I don’t think I do either.”

There was no way Harry was going to be able to walk straight tomorrow morning, which made Draco look far too smug as they lay together on the bed post-shower. Harry was pretty sure people’s arses weren’t meant to be fucked twice in such a short time, no matter how good it felt. He’d put his foot down in protest when Draco wanted to take him a third time in the shower, to which Draco had shrugged and said that Harry could fuck him instead.

Harry couldn’t pick which position he preferred. Perhaps topping if he was forced on pain of death to choose, but there was something horribly intimate and hot about having Draco inside him. Picking one or the other just seemed depressing when you could have both.

Harry rolled over, tracing a finger across Draco’s chest, mirroring the lines that danced across it. He hated them, but at the same time they had a haunting beauty to them. He could have done anything that night; anything would have been better than trying to kill Draco. Harry hadn’t meant to —  he didn’t know what the spell did —  but still. He’d known there was a dark intent, and he’d cast the spell with the intention to hurt. He presumed that was why it had done so much damage: you had to mean dark spells, and intentionally or not, he’d meant it.

“You better not be thinking something dumb,” Draco sighed, catching Harry’s hand in his.

Harry glanced up from the scars guiltily, “I-”

“I tried to Crucio you, Harry.”

“But-”

“And I know from experience that Crucio hurts a fucking long time after it’s cast, so I’d say we’re even.”

“But you didn’t cast it!”

Draco sighed, “Only because you hit me first.”

“You might not have been able to.”

“I think we both know that’s not true,” Draco said with a sad smile. He curled his hand in the ends of Harry’s hair.

“Crucio doesn’t scar forever,” Harry muttered, resting his head in the nook of Draco’s shoulder.

“No, but it fucking hurts.”

“I didn’t know it would scar forever.”

“I know,” Harry felt Draco’s lips against the top of his head, “but Sectumsempra translates to _I cut forever_. Half of the point of the spell is leaving a mark.”

 _Leaving a mark._ Harry was hit by another wave of nausea. He and Voldemort had marked Draco. Fuck, the second mark Voldemort had left on Draco was because of Harry.

“This is my fault too,” Harry croaked, tracing his finger under the _traitor._

Draco let out a small huff. “No, this one is because for once in my measly life, I chose to do the right thing. Do not make it all about you.” Harry looked up and Draco was smiling at him, a small, kind, warm smile. A beautiful smile. “Do not blame yourself for the Dark Lord being a psycho.”

“Voldemort was a psycho,” Harry agreed, not missing the way Draco flinched slightly at the name. “Why do you still call him the Dark Lord?”

Draco’s mouth thinned into a small line. “Just what everyone called him.”

“Most people called him You-Know-Who, and Dumbledore always called him Tom Riddle.”

“Dumbledore did whatever the fuck he wanted,” Draco grumbled, causing Harry to laugh. It was true to an extent. Dumbledore certainly hadn’t given a shit when one of his old students demanded to be called Lord Voldemort. Harry respected him for that. “Anyway, can we talk about something slightly happier please?”

Harry rolled his eyes but complied. “Okay, tell me about your plans for when the trial is over.”

“Presuming I get off?”

“You’re definitely getting off,” Harry said firmly.

A grin grew across Draco’s face, and he shifted closer to Harry. Harry’s breath caught at the feel of Draco’s naked body pressing up against him. “Oh am I _definitely_ getting off?” he drawled. Harry knew it was kind of weird to find Draco’s smarmy, poncy accent sexy, but he did. He really did.

“You’re a nightmare,” Harry sighed as Draco laughed, “Now tell me what you’re going to do with your life. You going back to Hogwarts?”

Draco wrinkled his nose. “I’d rather receive the Kiss than go back to Hogwarts.” Harry gave him another look, and Draco smirked at him. Idiot. Harry got it, though. Harry certainly wasn’t ready to return to Hogwarts either. He didn’t know if he’d ever be. “Fine, there is one thing I’ve been thinking about, but you’re not allowed to laugh.”

Harry raised his eyebrows and indicated for Draco to go on.

“Remember that day we went to London and I spoke to Granger about the idea of a wizarding museum? Well… since otherwise I’d be stuck here alone after the trial, I thought that perhaps I’d turn the Manor into a museum.” Draco bit his lip. “It would be a trip through key moments in wizarding history with special focus on the rise and fall of the Dark Lord-”

“Voldemort,” Harry prompted softly.

Draco scrunched up his face and swallowed heavily. “-- with special focus on the rise and rall of V- Vol-”

“Voldemort.”

“-- Voldemort,” Draco breathed softly, and Harry squeezed his hand. “So no one can forget what happened, and so we can make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Harry stared at the boy in front of him. This boy who had been taught to hate from the moment he was born. Who had been taught that he was better than everyone around him, and who was unlearning it all. Who had been dragged through the war and was coming out of it a better person.

Draco stared back at him with a guarded expression until Harry cupped his face in his hands – appreciating the contrast of their brown and white skin tones – and smiled. “I think it’s the best idea you’ve ever had.”

“Really?”

Harry nodded, “Really.”

It would be difficult, and it would mean that Draco would never be able to run away from the past. He would always be forced to remember and own his mistakes, but that showed how far Draco had come from the boy he was at Hogwarts. He was no longer trying to deflect his mistakes onto other people, but accepted and learned from them. Harry smiled again. It would show Kingsley, Robards, everyone, that Draco was worth keeping around. He could be a beacon of hope to everyone who had fallen prey to the darkness.You can change, and  you can overcome your mistakes. Harry was proud of Draco and listened to him prattle on about his museum with faith beating in his heart.

* * *

 When Harry and Draco walked into the dining room the next day, he didn’t miss Narcissa’s small nod of approval. Pansy and Hermione were slightly less subdued as they sat on either side of Cecelia Greengrass and threw the boys matching grins. It was only Lucius Malfoy who said nothing, hands clasped tightly on the table. His expression was unmoving, and his eyes stayed firmly on Cecelia. Harry could feel the tension in Draco’s body and gave him a soft nudge with his shoulder to tell him that it was all okay. Harry wanted to take his hand, but he didn’t want to push it.

“I’m glad you’ve rejoined us, Draco,” Cecelia said with a polite smile that Draco just managed to return. “What were we discussing again?”

“Possible things Theo and Greg could say in their statements —” Pansy said, the corner of her mouth twitching in a way that suggested that if Nott and Goyle were there, she would show them exactly where they could stick their statements.

“-- and how we can counteract them,” Hermione finished. The two girls shared matching smiles. It was a bizarre sight Pansy and Hermione finishing each other’s sentences but Harry was happy for them.

Harry nodded and let the others do most of the talking. This wasn’t his area of expertise.

They seemed to have a good plan, but Cecelia would have to do a lot of work on the spot spinning what Nott and Goyle said. Nott was being presented as the jilted lover, and Goyle as the easily influenced.

They went through the plan bit by bit, with Hermione mentioning Harry’s letter had been published, so hopefully the public’s view on Draco would calm down. They were going to win, and Robards could suck it. Harry wondered idly if defeating your boss in a public trial was the best way to start a new job, but really, he didn’t care.

Eventually, the group finished, and Cecelia informed the Malfoys that they would be transported to the Ministry at the end of the week to spend the duration of the trials in holding cells. Harry had started to raise a fuss, but Hermione hushed him. There were battles to fight with the Ministry, and ones to let go of. This was one of the latter.

Harry clenched his jaw and sulked. The thought of Draco alone in the Ministry cells drove him mad, but Harry knew not to push it. A couple of days in a holding cell in exchange for Draco’s freedom seemed like a fair enough deal. For the first time Harry thought of Narcissa Malfoy, likely destined to spend her life in Azkaban, knowing she had given up everything for Draco. It didn’t seem as just as it once had. Even Lucius Malfoy didn’t look as intimidating, with his pale face drawn as he struggled to keep his head high. An idea started to wriggle in Harry’s mind, but he pushed it aside. Lucius and Narcissa may be Draco’s parents, but they had done horrible things to so many people. There was blood on their hands. Harry couldn’t forget that.

Harry wouldn’t forget it, since the Ministry had called on him to speak against them. He, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, and Luna had all testifying against Lucius. There was no saving him.

“Son, I’d like a word with you,” Lucius’s cold drawl spurred Harry out of his thoughts, and he moved closer to Draco’s side. Pansy mirrored his actions, her own face impassive. “Alone.”

“Luc-” Narcissa started, but Lucius gave her a look. Harry gazed between the two of them, watching their wordless conversation. It was different from the ones Ron and Hermione had, which often involved multiple different facial expressions and dramatic hand gestures. Neither Lucius nor Narcissa moved, and their faces seemed to remain blank masks, but eventually Narcissa nodded and turned to the rest of them saying, “Let’s give them a moment.”

Narcissa might have been satisfied by whatever she read in Lucius’s cool grey eyes, but Harry wasn’t. He just took a step closer to Draco. Harry could feel the tension ebbing out of Draco, and there was no way he was leaving him alone.

“Honestly, Mr Potter,” Lucius started before Draco coughed softly. Everyone’s eyes fell on him.

Draco stared at the floor, his hair covering his face. “Harry can stay.”

No one said anything and even Harry stared dumbly at Draco for a moment. He had never seen or imagined Draco standing up to his father. Judging from the shocked looks on Lucius’s, Narcissa’s, and Pansy’s faces, neither had they.

Pansy’s words from the other day rang in Harry’s ears: insults don’t hurt as much when they’re said by a dead man walking. Harry wasn’t sure that would apply to Draco and his father. Then again, it was mainly Lucius’s fault that Draco was going through all of this in the first place, and perhaps that was why Draco could stand up to him now. Or maybe he just presumed he was going be disowned, and thought he had nothing to lose.

Draco had admitted to this fear when Harry tried to convince him to leave his room and attend the trial planning meeting. Harry’s heart had shattered at the vulnerability painted on Draco’s face as he whispered that he was afraid his parents were going to kick him out. Harry had tried to assure him that they wouldn’t, that Narcissa had pretty much given them her blessing, but Draco had remained doubtful. Harry had wanted to tell Draco his parents were even stupider than Harry thought if they disowned him for something as minor as liking boys, but he didn’t think it would go down well. Instead he’d kissed Draco until he was smiling, and they were late to the meeting.

“Very well, we’ll leave you three to it,” Narcissa smiled politely. As she turned to leave, her hand brushed against the small of Draco’s back, and Harry watched some of the stiffness leave the other boy. Harry would understand the Malfoy dynamic, but he was pretty sure Narcissa had just told her son that she loved him. They were a strange bunch.

Harry crossed his arms and gazed evenly at Lucius Malfoy. He hated how similar Draco and Lucius looked. They had the same pointed faces, harsh eyes, and cold mouths; however, Harry knew that Draco’s smiles could hold warmth, and that his grey eyes melted into silver when he was happy. Harry had never seen anything similar in Lucius. Lucius’s eyes darted from Harry to Draco before he sighed.

“I’m not going to pretend to understand your… _preferences_ , Draco,” — so they were jumping straight in at the deep end. Harry wasn’t sure he liked the tone Lucius used when he said _preferences_. “Or the people you chose to engage in those _preferences_ with.” Harry bristled and bit his tongue. He was not going to aggravate Lucius Malfoy and make matters worse for Draco. Harry would not, even if Lucius was a right fucking cock.

Harry shot Draco a look, but he was wearing his stupid Malfoy mask, so Harry couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Was it something they were taught as kids? How did they all perfect this mask?

“However,” Lucius continued, “you are my son, and I don’t want to spend what little time we have left dwelling on these things.”

Lucius wasn’t going to disown Draco. Lucius wasn’t even going to tell Draco off. Harry felt his heart steady. He didn’t know how much of it was Narcissa’s doing, and he didn’t care. Lucius Malfoy did have a heart after all.

“I’ll leave you two to it,” Harry murmured, giving Draco a small smile and nodding at Lucius. Harry now felt like he was intruding on a moment that the father and son needed to share. He sloped out of the dining room to find Pansy and Hermione waiting outside the door.

“So?” Pansy demanded.

Harry offered her a small smile, “It’s all okay.”

Pansy let out the breath she was holding and slumped back against the wall. “Draco has been angsting about this since fourth year, and Lucius just accepted it.” She shook her head. “Cows will fly.”

“It’s pigs,” Hermione corrected, but she too was smiling.

“What’s pigs?” Pansy frowned.

Harry and Hermione shared a smile. “Doesn’t matter.”

Pansy just shrugged, grinning again, “Let’s go get some food. Draco can meet us down there.”

Casting one last look at the dining room door, Harry let himself be dragged down to the kitchen. Draco was okay. Everything was going to be okay.

* * *

 The rest of the week was absolutely manic between the last minute preparations for Draco’s trial, and Harry and Ron managing to find and sign a lease on a flat.

The confrontation with Molly had been ugly to say the least, and Harry hadn’t envied Ron. Molly had sobbed, begging them not to leave, but eventually Arthur had talked her around, especially when Ron assured that he’d probably come home most weekends for food. She’d then started panicking that they wouldn’t eat properly and would actually starve to death. Harry had tried to convince her that he was a perfectly good cook but, she’d ignored him.

Hermione and all the others returning to Hogwarts had been frantically buying their new books and equipment. Hermione was already worrying that she was behind on her coursework, and Ron had confided to Harry that he wasn’t sorry he wouldn’t be there for seventh year. Harry agreed. After all they’d been through, the thought of Hermione badgering him every other moment to do his homework was painful.

Harry had taken Draco on one final date to see the Natural History Museum in London. The change between Draco when he had first been forced to walk around muggle London without magic and now was startling. He walked with his head held high, and whilst he still didn’t smile at strangers, he didn’t flinch from them. Since Harry doubted that Draco had ever smiled at strangers, Harry wasn’t worried. He hadn’t been hoping for miracles, after all.

Harry could tell that Draco was becoming increasingly nervous as the press began to speculate on the outcome of his trial, but they all tried to keep him distracted. Pansy and Blaise worked on Draco’s plans after the trial, including where he would live and what he would do.  Draco, Blaise, and Hermione spent many afternoons discussing Draco’s plans for his museum, and where he would find the artefacts he wanted. Blaise had agreed to go travelling around with him.

Even Ron and Draco had warmed slightly to each other, leading to Ron challenging Draco to a game of chess and Draco accepting. One game had led to another and then another as they struggled to defeat each other. They were neck and neck currently. When he had turned to leave on the eve before Draco was escorted to the Ministry cells, Ron had gruffly said to him that he better not be sentenced to the Kiss, as Ron was determined to beat him at chess once and for all. Ron even gave Draco one of his rough shoulder slaps, which was a sign of high praise.

Hermione had shocked Draco, and probably herself, by throwing her arms around Draco and telling him that they’d continue their history conversations when he was free.

Eventually it was just Harry and Draco. Harry had pulled Pansy aside and tried to convince her to stay, but she’d said that he could distract Draco the best. She’d given him a quick hug before pulling Draco in for an all-encompassing one and making him promise to see her on the other side. Draco and Blaise had nodded at each other, and then it was just Draco and Harry left.

The second his friends left, Draco’s shoulders slumped, and he collapsed back onto the sofa with a sigh. Harry sat down next to him and covered Draco’s hand. There was so much Harry wanted to say, so much he wanted to tell Draco, but Harry couldn’t get the words out.

“This could be my last night of freedom,” Draco said, staring ahead of him.

Harry squeezed his hand, “It won’t be.”

“But it could be.”

Harry shook his head firmly. “You’re stuck with me for a while yet.”

Draco let out a weak laugh. “Only you, Harry Potter, only you.”

Harry smiled and leaned to kiss him. “Only me.”

Draco nodded into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Harry’s neck and pulling them both down on the sofa. Harry tried to show Draco how he felt by kissing him desperately.

They collapsed a little later, heads together and breathing hard from eager hand jobs. They hadn’t even bothered taking off each other’s trousers.

Later, whilst they sat about eating muggle chocolate bars (Pansy was obsessed with them) in the kitchen, Harry asked Draco about what his father had said.

Biting his lip hard, Draco started to become worked up at the thought of losing both his parents in a couple of days. Harry couldn’t think of what to say. He couldn’t tell Draco that it was okay, that it got better. It never got better. Losing your parents never stopped hurting.

So Harry dropped to his knees and sucked Draco into his mouth, and Draco returned the favour. Harry wanted to tell Draco not to worry but he couldn’t, so he kissed him messily up against the counters, tasting each other’s come.

 _Tell me something. Anything,_ Harry wanted to beg as they lay in bed in silence, but whenever he tried to speak, Draco just kissed him, hard and firm. Harry didn’t fight it, because it was easier than words. The feeling of being inside Draco or Draco inside him. To distract themselves, they touched each other frantically. It was a way to try and deal with the fact that they didn’t know what the next couple of days would hold, and that tomorrow changed everything.

Harry lay there wishing he could summon his Gryffindor bravery and tell Draco what he was thinking. However, Harry didn’t know what he was thinking. He didn’t understand what was happening in his own head, let alone Draco’s. So they fucked one last time until exhaustion claimed them both.

Draco sent Harry away before the Aurors arrived and took the Malfoys to the Ministry holding cells.  As Harry sat at the Burrow, he tried to ignore the dread that swirled in his stomach. They were going to win tomorrow. _They were going to win_. Draco was going to go free. They would win. Maybe if he told himself that enough, Harry would be able to fully believe it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aghh I hope that's not too big of a cliff hanger to leave it on. The boys are back together.... But yes we do still have the trial to deal with. When I return I'll post the final two chapters and the epilogue, and even that won't be the last of the Lost Children world. I've written a follow on one shot already and I have plans to do more.  
> You have all been the bestest of best readers and I am sorry for the upcoming delay  
> I'll still be able to use Tumblr so if you want to come chat find me at http://callingdrarry.tumblr.com <3  
> As always all comments and kudos are beyond amazing


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wait is up my sweet cherubs!! I have missed you all, and I literally got off the plane a couple of hours ago and sat down to get this uploaded. I'm currently going over Chater 16 and so that will follow within the hour.  
> Thank you for all your lovely comments whilst I've been away, I've had the time off my life!! With no further ado, enjoy

“Harry, stop it,” Hermione hissed. Harry wasn’t sure how she had managed to spot him about to run a hand through his hair, but he was scared.

Harry couldn’t sit still as they waited in the courtroom for Draco to be led in. He clenched his fists and fidgeted. Ginny reached over and squeezed his hand. He managed to give her a weak smile, but he couldn’t manage anything further.

Draco’s trial was about to begin.

Harry glanced up to where the Wizengamot sat, all of their faces grim. He’d felt their eyes tracking his movements when he’d come in with Ron and Hermione, and he’d given Kingsley a nod of respect. This was it. The moment the last two months had been leading up to.

Harry kept his fists clenched to stop the temptation to drag them through his hair. Molly had woken them all up at the crack of dawn to get them ready, to ensure they looked smart and presentable. She’d insisted on giving him a haircut last night and now he missed his longer hair.

Ginny had whistled softly when he’d come downstairs in the smart black robes, newly cut hair, and clenched jaw. She’d promised he looked every inch the Saviour the public wanted and needed. Harry didn’t feel much like a Saviour; he felt sick. He felt like if he made one sudden movement, he was going to be sick. He felt his chest tighten but he swallowed his anxiety down. He couldn’t lose it now.

Harry glanced over at Pansy who was sitting with Blaise and Millicent Bulstrode, all with composed faces. However, Harry had now spent enough time with them to recognise the fear in Pansy’s mouth and the tension in Blaise’s jaw. They were terrified. They were all terrified.

Harry heard the doors open, and everyone turned to watch Draco be led in. Despite the dull grey prisoner robes and the shackles, Draco’s head was held high. Harry spotted Pansy’s nod of approval. He caught Draco’s eyes and gave him the slightest of smiles, trying to convince him that it would all be okay. Draco didn’t smile back.

Draco was flanked by two Aurors and Cecelia, who took her place beside Draco when he was sat down. Harry was glad the reforms involved taking a lot of cues from muggle law courts, as he remembered how terrifying his own trial was.

“The accused is now present, let us begin,” Kingsley’s voice rang out. Harry squeezed Ginny’s hand tightly. “This hearing takes place on the second of September for the crimes committed during the war by Draco Lucius Malfoy, resident of Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire.

“Interrogators: Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic; Gawain Robards, Head Auror; Justus Pilliwickle the Third, Head of the Department of Magical Law. Prosecutor: Victoria Fields. Court Scribe: Margret Monty.

“Defence for the accused: Cecelia Greengrass, barrister.”

Kingsley’s eyes swept across the courtroom, and Harry tried to keep himself level-headed; he couldn’t have his magic exploding out now or accidentally set the prosecution’s notes on fire. The courtroom was not the place for a panic attack.

Kingsley picked up a piece of parchment. “The charges against the accused are as follows:

“That the accused knowingly, willingly, and deliberately took the Dark Mark, a hate crime against muggles and muggle-born; that the accused knowingly, willingly, and deliberately intended to kill civilians – may it be noted that civilians includes anyone who has not entered into a duel with the accused; that the accused knowingly, willingly, and deliberately tortured civilians; and finally, that the accused knowingly, willingly, and deliberately partook in the taking and keeping of hostages.”

Ginny entwined her other hand in Luna’s.

Harry kept his eyes on Kingsley. He could keep calm. They knew all the charges that were being levelled against Draco. Cecelia was a professional. Harry’s word held sway. It would be fine. It would all be fine.

“Our aim for this trial,” Kingsley continued, “is to ensure we find the correct balance between the corrective measure and the severity of the nature of the prohibited act.”

Hermione was nodding along with Kingsley as she sat beside Harry, but Ron was sitting with his nose wrinkled in that way that meant he was lost. Harry felt for him. He was getting confused as well.

“Defence,” Kingsley nodded.

Cecelia smiled politely and rose to her feet. She had a way of commanding everyone’s attention. “The defence would like to release Draco Malfoy from his sentence and let him off on probation.” A few spectators gasped. “I would like to take this minute to remind you all of the choices you made at sixteen, at the choices we all made as underage wizards trying desperately to impress our parents. I know I cannot be the only one who made some questionable choices at such an impressionable age.”

A few people nodded, but Robards only scowled.

“Many of the crimes the prosecution aims to hold my client responsible for were out of his control. He was a young boy who thought he knew best but learnt the hard way that he didn’t. Didn’t we all trust our parents to be right? Didn’t we trust that our parents knew best? The Malfoy family accepted their mistakes and defected before the Battle was over. On top of that, my client risked his life twice by defying the Dark Lord’s orders, first by lowering his wand against Dumbledore, and second by refusing to identify Harry Potter and his friends. If it were not for my client, there is a chance that none of us would be standing here today because Harry Potter may not have survived the War.”

Harry twisted his hands in his lap as he watched the Wizengamot members’ faces, trying to understand what they were thinking. Trying to understand if they were seeing the other side of Draco’s story.

“So, I ask you all to look into your hearts and understand that this case is not black and white. I want you to think of your children, your children’s children, and yourself as children. Would like them or yourself to be held responsible for youthful indiscretions for the rest of your life, to possibly lose your life before you were given the chance to do the right thing? I implore you all to give Draco Malfoy the chance to do the right thing.”

The right thing. That was what all of their memories would prove, that Draco was capable of and wanted to do the right thing.

“She’s amazing,” Harry spotted Pansy mouth to Hermione, and he had to agree. Cecelia was amazing. The thudding of his heart ceased slightly.

“And the prosecution,” Kingsley said.

A slim, dark-skinned witch rose. “The prosecution aims to give Draco Malfoy the highest of sentences: we wish him to receive the Kiss.”

Harry’s blood ran cold.

“As his house played the role of You-Know-Who’s headquarters, we can infer that Draco Malfoy was high in his inner circle. This is supported by evidence of the personal mission the accused was entrusted with, as You-Know-Who’s spy in Hogwarts, and as Lucius Malfoy’s – the accused’s father – role and history regarding You-Know-Who.

“It is with this overwhelming evidence that the prosecution would like to remind the Wizengamot that this is not an emotional case but a factual one. We were all given the choice in the War of what side we stood on and the accused picked the side of You-Know-Who. And whilst the defence may claim that he was following orders on fear for his life, we would like to take this moment to remind the court that following orders is not an excuse in wizarding law, not whilst there is a moral option available.”

It was only Ginny and Hermione’s strong grip on his arms that stopped Harry from dragging his hands through his hair desperately.

“The accused and his family defected in the War because they knew You-Know-Who had lost. I’m sure we all remember just how good the Malfoys are at evading difficult situations, and it is the prosecution’s wish that they are not allowed to do it again. The accused may have convinced Mr Potter and his friends that there is hope for him yet, but that is not a reason to forgive him of all he has done. The prosecution asks for justice. Draco Malfoy is a beacon neo-Death Eater idealists and if they see that he can commit all these atrocities and get away it, then they will believe the same. We wish to leave You-Know-Who’s reign in the past, don’t you?”

Harry bristled at the way she seemed suggested that Draco had hoodwinked them. Why could no one believe that Draco had genuinely changed? Did people really think that Harry and his friends were idiots after everything?

Kingsley and the rest of the Wizengamot scribbled some things down onto the paper in front of them. Harry wished he could hold Draco’s hand.

“The Wizengamot calls the first witness for Draco Malfoy’s crimes against wizarding society. Draco Lucius Malfoy, please come to the stand,” Kingsley said.

Draco didn’t tremble as the Aurors forced him to his feet and escorted him to the witness stand. Harry tried desperately to catch his eye, but Draco just stared blankly at Cecelia, who nodded at him.

“You have given permission for us to administer Veritaserum to back up your claims and have willingly given memories to both the prosecution and the defence to be used in this court. Do you agree with this statement, Mr Malfoy?”

“That is true,” Draco’s voice was even, the Slytherin mask locked into place. Harry had never been so thankful for that stupid mask. He didn’t want people to see how terrified Draco was.

A Ministry official Harry didn’t recognise stumbled forward and helped Draco swallow the contents of a vial. Draco still didn’t look at Harry as he sat down. One of the Aurors fiddled with their wand before setting it down on the stand pointed at Draco. The end glowed green, but Hermione had explained to Harry that it monitored heart rate. If Draco were to lie, it would light up red.

The prosecuting lawyer stood up and shuffled her notes before offering Draco a charming smile. Harry thought it was the kind of charming smile a venomous snake might give you before it bites.

“Just a couple of questions to get us started,” Fields said, “What is your name?”

“Draco Lucius Malfoy.”

“Your age?”

“Eighteen.”

“And your parents’ names are?”

“Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy.”

The end of the wand stayed green.

“This time I’m going to ask you your name and I want you to try and lie to me. What is your name?”

“My name is-” Draco’s jaw clenched, and he seemed to be fighting with himself. The wand glowed red. “It’s- It’s- Draco Lucius Malfoy,” he eventually gasped. He looked like he was sweating with the effort it had taken him to try and lie. The wand glowed green again.

Fields smiled again, “Good.”

Harry had a feeling the dance between Draco and Fields was just beginning.

“So, Draco.” Draco’s nose wrinkled at the informality. “Would you say you admired your father as a child?”

“Yes.”

“You looked up to him? Respected him? Believed everything he told you?”

“Yes.”

“Including his views on those of us with muggle blood? What was it you liked to call us?”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fucking fuck. The prosecuting lawyer was a muggle-born and had more reason to hate Draco and everything he’d stood for than anyone. Harry resisted the urge to bang his head against the chair in front of him.

Draco said nothing, but Harry watched his jaw tighten with the effort. _Stay silent_ , Cecelia had told Draco. _Make them do the work. And don’t let them put words in your mouth. And most of all do not get arsey with them. If you get rude only you lose._ Harry hoped Draco could remember that today. Self-control had never been Draco’s strong suit.

“What did you call people like me, Draco? People like Miss Granger over there. I have a memory of Miss Granger’s if you’d like to see it.”

Hermione’s bottom lip trembled, and Harry squeezed her hand. He knew she hadn’t given it voluntarily.

“Mudbloods,” Draco said eventually.

Fields nodded, “Meaning dirty blood, you thought we were below you. You thought we were filth, and you wanted us dead. All of us.”

Draco shook his head, his even tone cracking slightly. “I was just repeating what my father told me.”

“Yes, your father the Death Eater,” Fields nodded, “So, when given the opportunity to follow in your esteemed father’s footsteps and join the Death Eaters, you jumped at the opportunity, did you not?”

Draco said nothing, his bottom lip trembling.

“I asked you a question Draco, did you or did you not join the Death Eaters willingly?”

Harry closed his eyes, he knew the answer but he hated hearing it.

“Yes.”

“What were your thoughts about joining the Death Eaters? Did you want to bring harm to _mudbloods_ and _muggles_?” She spat the words at him.

“More than anything I wanted to make my father proud.”

Fields nodded, “And when You-Know-Who gave you that mission, you were proud weren’t you? You bragged to your friends about how he’d entrusted you personally.”

Draco stared at his hands before answering. “I was proud at the start. I thought I’d really be able to make my father proud; however, then I began to realise what it actually entailed. I wanted out, and I didn’t know how to achieve it because he- Voldemort had threatened my family. He said he would kill them and me if I failed.”

Harry felt a swell of pride at Draco’s courage in saying Voldemort’s name. He knew how difficult Draco found it to do so, yet he’d done it anyway.

“Albus Dumbledore gave you the opportunity of an out, didn’t he?”

“Yes. However, he died before I could take it.”

“So, what did you think when Albus Dumbledore told you that you didn’t have to kill him?”

Harry had given that memory, the memory of Draco and Dumbledore on the tower. So had Draco, he imagined, but Harry’s would include the evidence of Draco lowering his wand. Of Draco being ready to take Dumbledore’s offer for safety.

“I was thinking that I would hear what he had to say and then make up my mind.”

“And what if you hadn’t liked what he’d said?” Field’s voice grew louder as if she’d caught onto something that Draco had said. Something that to her screamed guilt.

“I don’t know,” Draco’s voice was strained. The light flickered but remained green.

“So would you have continued your mission? If you hadn’t liked what Dumbledore said, would you have gone on to kill him if you hadn’t been interrupted?”

The light flickered again, “I don’t know.”

“Yes or no, Draco?”

“I don’t know!” Draco’s voice came out in a barely constrained shout. Pansy’s nails dug into the wooden bench in front of her, and Harry’s breath caught in his throat. Draco’s temper was getting the better of him.

“Well, what were you thinking?” Field’s voice softened. She sounded like a cat about to be given its cream.

The light flickered madly as Draco struggled to hold his tongue.

“Tell us Draco, tell us what you thought as Dumbledore who stood there defenceless and offered sanctuary for you and your family.”

Harry knew that Draco was going to burst the second before he did. “I was thinking, here stands a man who has done nothing, _nothing_ for me. I didn’t want to kill him! I didn’t! However, if he couldn’t protect my family, then I would have to! That’s what I was thinking, I was thinking of them!”

Silence fell over the court. Harry scowled at Fields as Draco panted with the effort it had taken him to try keep the words in.

Kingsley’s face was impassive at the front.

“So you would have killed Albus Dumbledore, the leader of the light side, for your own means?”

Draco didn’t fight this time as he stared blankly at Fields. Harry saw the hope ebbing out of him in the slump of his shoulders. Hermione’s nails dug into Harry’s leg, and he hadn’t realised he’d started to rise up in his desperation to comfort Draco. He sat back down.

“Yes.”

The courtroom burst into flurried whispers, and cameras flicked frantically. Harry just stared straight ahead at a Draco, wanting to kiss the defeat off his face.

He hated hearing Draco confess that he would have killed Dumbledore, hated hearing that contradiction that Draco could have done it. But then Harry remembered Pansy’s words to Molly. Harry would have killed Snape or Bellatrix for his friends; Harry would have felt awful, but he would have done it. He tried to remember that.

Fields’s questions continued, quizzing Draco about what he’d had to do for Voldemort, how he’d gotten the Death Eaters into Hogwarts, the near deaths of Ron and Katie Bell, his bullying past, his use of the cruciatus curse on Hogwarts students, and his keeping of Madam Rosmerta under the imperius curse.

Draco answered her questions politely with Cecelia objecting when Fields pushed too far. Harry wasn’t sure if Pansy was blinking as she stared at the scene in front of her.

“Now Draco, could you tell me about your relationship with Harry Potter?”

Harry sat bolt upright, nearly elbowing Ginny in the face.

“He’s my friend.” The light flickered.

“Your friend?”

“Yes.” The light wavered again.

“Just your friend?”

Draco bit his lip, and Harry sent him a tentative smile, though he wasn’t even sure if Draco saw it. He seemed to be looking anywhere but at Harry.

“No, as you all saw in the _Prophet’s_ article, there is more between me and Harry.”

“So are you friends with benefits then?”

“No,” Draco’s voice sounded so raw, and he finally looked at Harry. There was still defeat in his shoulders and sadness in the curve of his mouth.

“No, you’re not friends with benefits?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so? Can you define your feelings for Harry Potter for us please, Draco?”

Draco fidgeted in the chair, and the light flickered. Harry stared up at him wide-eyed. He had no idea what Draco would say. “Harry is more than a friend to me. I cannot put a label on what we are, but I can say that he means a lot to me.”

“And do you think your relationship with Harry Potter would lead to him believing you were coerced?”

Harry started to stand up again, but before he could, Ron grabbed him and Hermione sat on his lap.

“I don’t understand the question.”

“Would the feelings you and Harry Potter now share mean that Harry Potter’s view of you isn’t one hundred percent objective?”

The light started flickering madly before glowing a harsh red. Harry fought against Ron and Hermione to jump up, but Ginny shoved her hand over his mouth. How dare Fields? Harry’s breathing started to speed up.

“Calm down,” Hermione whispered, squeezing his thigh. Harry fought to get his breathing under control.

“Yes.” The word was forced from Draco’s lips and he hung his head, blond hair flopping over his face.

“Objection! Of course Harry Potter’s view is not one hundred percent objective, no one’s is!” Cecelia cried, jumping to her feet.

“How dare-” Harry squawked around Ginny’s hand at the same time.

“Harry Potter, do you need to leave the room?” Kingsley’s voice echoed just enough for Harry to be subdued.

He shook his head, and Ginny slowly removed her hand, glowering at him

Fields turned and smiled at them all. “No further questions.”

“Silence!” Kingsley cried as the reporters jabbered away. “Silence!” Eventually they were subdued and Kingsley sighed. “Defence would you like to begin your questioning of the accused or would you like to break for recess?”

Cecelia stopped glowering at Fields and turned a polite smile on Kingsley, “I’ll begin.”

Harry frowned. He wanted a break, and he wasn’t even on trial. Watching Draco getting grilled was draining.

Hermione eased herself off his lap and whispered, “If Cecelia breaks for recess it means the Wizengamot has all that time to dwell on the prosecution’s argument. She needs to counter it as quickly as possible.”

Harry nodded. It made sense, but he would have loved a moment to get his bloody head straight.

The ministry official gave Draco another vial of Veritaserum to swallow, and Cecelia began.

“Draco, what age were you when you let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts, used the Unforgivables, and attempted to assassinate Albus Dumbledore?”

“Sixteen,” Draco said. He still looked like shit, but he didn’t look as defeated now that Cecelia was talking to him.

Cecelia nodded and turned to the court. “Now I am not saying that what Draco did is excusable by any means, but unless I am mistaken, he committed these acts as an underage wizard, meaning he should not be being tried as an adult for mistakes he made as a child. Is it the normal custom of the Ministry to grant underage wizards the Kiss? Is this really the way we want to start our post-war world, by teaching children there is no hope for them to change?”

Silence rang out through the court. Cecelia smiled at them all dangerously, daring someone to disagree. Satisfied, she turned back to Draco.

“Did you want to kill Albus Dumbledore?” Draco shook his head. “Why would you have?”

“Because he was threatening my family, my friends, and me,” Cecelia nodded at him to explain in more detail, “He would promise to let the Dementors have my father if I failed… To hand my mother over to the Snatchers to let them have their way… That I wouldn’t be looking quite so pretty once Fenrir was done with me,” Draco’s voice broke, and Harry felt nausea rising up in him. “That he’d use the Cruciatus Curse on my friends until they were too broken to function properly.” Draco’s eyes flickered shut, and Harry knew he was reliving those memories. Harry wanted to jump up and help him, but he was stuck in his seat. “All of this was promised if I failed to kill Dumbledore.”

“And yet you still lowered your wand?”

“Yes,” Draco’s voice was barely a whisper. Harry hadn’t thought about what was at stake when Draco lowered his wand, the risk he was taking.

Cecelia turned to the court. “I would now like to show the court a memory from Harry Potter of Draco Malfoy lowering his wand. And before the prosecution suggests Mr Potter’s feelings may have clouded his judgement, I would like to remind you all that my client and Harry Potter were known rivals at the time.” The smile she gave Fields was pure venom. Fields just shrugged innocently.

It was weird seeing the memory projected, strange seeing it all again as Harry had stood there frozen, unable to do anything. There it was again, a definite and unmistakable movement as Draco started to lower his wand before the Death Eaters barged in.

Harry hated them all. He wanted to know what could have happened if Draco had listened to Dumbledore and accepted his offer.

Cecelia continued her questioning of Draco, establishing his pampered childhood and the love both his parents had shown him, trying to make the court understand why it was so easy for Draco to believe what they said when they were his world and he was theirs’. She showed the sympathy and the Draco’s fear. She argued that picking the moral option is never easy.

“I would like to show the court memories of the night at Malfoy Manor when my client could have turned over Harry Potter and his friends to the Dark Lord. It would have been the easy option, the safe option. It was the option his family wanted him to take, and yet he didn’t.”

She turned around and one by one, Draco’s, Harry’s, Lucius’s, Narcissa’s, Hermione’s, and Ron’s memories of that night were displayed for the court. Draco’s refusal to identify Harry and his friends despite his parents’ pleas and his obvious fear.

“What was going through your head when your father asked you whether the man in front of you was Harry Potter?”

Draco met Harry’s eyes for the first time in Cecelia’s interrogation. “That I knew it was him, that I’d know those eyes anywhere.”

“And yet you didn’t identify him?”

Draco shook his head.

“Why not?”

“Because I didn’t want him to die, I didn’t want the Da- Voldemort to win.”

A gasp went up, and the reporters started muttering again.

Cecelia continued, “Even though your parents, your father, who you had spent your entire life trying to please, asked you to?”

Draco nodded.

“My final question, Draco, is what are your views on Muggles and Muggle-borns?”

Harry stared at Draco and watched him swallow. “I cannot claim to understand Muggles fully, but I’m learning, and they’re not stupid as I always thought. The things they have to do because they don’t have magic are almost extraordinary.” A proud smile graced Harry’s face, and the corner of Draco’s mouth tugged up in response. “And Muggle-borns are no less than me. I’ve met a some that are a lot better than me, in fact.” Draco turned and gave Hermione one of his rare soft smiles. The wand didn’t flicker once.

Hermione stifled a sob from beside Harry, and he reached out and squeezed her hand. It was hard to associate this Draco with the one they had known in second year, and it really showed how far Draco had come and how far he would go when free.

Cecelia smiled, “No further questions.”

* * *

 

Dropping his head into his hands, Harry sent Hermione a thankful smile as she hurried off in search of coffee and food for them all. He’d been hoping that in recess he’d be able to see Draco, but Draco had been led off to wait somewhere secure. What did they think he was going to do? He didn’t have a wand, he didn’t have his magic, and he was being flanked by two armed and trained Aurors. Draco Malfoy was sneaky, but he wasn’t that sneaky.

“So, what now?” Pansy questioned. There was a slightly frantic glimmer in her eye.

Cecelia pulled out her notes and frowned at them. “We begin with the witnesses. Harry here’s first, and then Theodore Nott will step up as the prosecution’s main witness.”

“Fucking slimy dick,” Ron grumbled, dragging his hands over his face.

Blaise made a hum of agreement, his mouth curved into a dangerous snarl.

“Just wait till I get my hands on him,” Pansy muttered.

Cecelia cleared her throat and gave Pansy a firm look. “You will do no such thing. I am not defending your murder trial.”

Pansy grinned up at Cecelia before dropping her head to the counter, smile fading. “I just fucking hate seeing Draco like this.”

“I know it’s hard, but he’s doing really well,” Cecelia said. The two women shared a soft smile.

Harry had to agree with Pansy. It was going to be difficult to just sit there and not do anything while Nott lied and chatted shit. While Nott twisted everything Draco had ever said and completely ignored all the progress Draco was making.

“Hermione is the next witness after Theodore, so hopefully having him sandwiched between her and Harry will prove how untrustworthy he is, and how everything he’s saying is false.”

“Is it only the three of them today?” Ginny asked, sitting down and having Luna perch on her lap. Ginny was here to support them all more than anything. Harry appreciated it. Molly had tried to insist that Ginny return to Hogwarts yesterday and the argument that had followed was terrifying.

Cecelia inspected her paperwork again. “Depends on how much gets done.”

“How long is the trial going to go on?” Ron asked.

“However long it takes,” Cecelia said.

Hermione returned in the next couple of minutes levitating one tray full of tea and coffee and the other full of a variety of cake. They all pounced on it thankfully, and by the time they were called back into the courtroom, their spirits had risen slightly.

* * *

“The Wizengamot calls the witness, Harry James Potter, to the stand.”

Harry could feel everyone’s eyes on him as he pushed himself to his feet. His hands were clammy, and his heart pounding, but he forced himself to keep calm as he walked up the witness stand. People in the audience whispered, and the reporters’ cameras flashed.

Harry paused behind the witness stand as Kingsley spoke again. “We’re going to administer Veritaserum now.” Harry glanced around the courtroom, catching sight of Hermione and Ron’s supportive smiles and Draco’s understanding nod. Draco knew what Harry was going to say. He couldn’t deny what Draco had done, but he now understood his actions better. Harry could try to explain them. Harry took the Veritaserum willingly and sat down, ready to hear what Fields said. He was going to remain calm. It was fine.

Harry was not fine. He felt like Fields twisted everything he said, drawing out his long history of hatred towards Draco. The suspicions he’d had of Draco in sixth year. How he’d once believed Draco would do anything for power. Even Harry’s views on Lucius and Narcissa, which weren’t relevant to how he felt about Draco at all.

Harry had been on the verge of a panic attack at one point but he had managed to catch Draco’s eyes and that centered him. It was strange that Draco Malfoy grounded him.

Harry dragged his hands through his hair - he’d given up any attempts of keeping it neat – and glowered at Fields over the top of his glasses. “That is not what I said,” he said through gritted teeth.

“So you didn’t witness the accused say that all _Mudbloods_ dying would be a good thing?”

Harry clenched his jaw, “I did witness that. What I did not say was that I think he still holds these views.”

“You really think he can change? You really think someone like _Draco Malfoy_ can just change like that?”

Harry scowled at her accusation, “Yes, as I’ve said.” The wand stayed green, and he sent her a smug smile.

“And what actual evidence do we have for that beyond your word?”

“Draco’s word?”

Fields smiled at him, and Harry wanted to hex that smarmy smile off her face. “I think you can understand why I may want more than _his_ word.” She made _his_ sound like a dirty word. In fact, she pronounced it the same Draco had once said _Mudblood_. Harry was starting to learn nothing should be pronounced the way Draco had once said _Mudblood_.

“I personally can’t,” Harry said, throwing a mocking smile back at her, “however, there is evidence in Draco’s future aspirations to open a museum so no one can forget what happened in the war-”

“And you believe him?”

“I wasn’t done speaking,” Harry said bluntly. He could see Pansy’s delighted face out of the corner of his eye as he scowled at Fields. “But yes, we have already established that I believe him.” He glanced over Fields’s shoulder and met Draco’s eyes and smiled at him. The corner of Draco’s mouth twitched in response, and Harry understood that was the best he was getting in the situation.

Fields’s sharp eyes followed Harry’s gaze to Draco. “I think it’s time we discussed the progression of your relationship with the accused.”

“Okay, what do you want to know?” Harry wasn’t going to let Fields intimidate him.

She regarded him carefully. “Talk me through the progression of events, as I think everyone wants to know how the Saviour can end up with a Death Eater?”

“Where do you want me to start exactly?” Harry asked, “Because it’s going to be a very long story if you want me to go back to our first meeting.”

Harry caught Cecelia giving him a firm look, but he also saw Draco smirking at him. Harry would do anything to keep Draco happy and hopeful through this.

“After the war,” Fields said.

So Harry described it. He described how he’d been called in by Pansy for Narcissa’s life debt and how he and Draco had started with as much animosity. How bit by bit Harry started to fall for the boy behind the mask, how he’d realised there was more to Draco Malfoy than he’d ever thought. How he was falling thick and fast for Draco with all his flaws, faults, and sharp edges.

Harry blushed as the Veritaserum loosened his tongue, yet he couldn’t seem to stop talking, couldn’t seem to stop embarrassing himself. However, the way Draco was looking at him was driving him insane. Harry was finally saying all the things he’d wanted to say, it had just taken a potion to get them out.

Harry had always hated discussing his private life, and yet here he was laying all his dumb feelings out for the world to see, all to save Draco. Funny how things happen.

Fields kept trying to twist his words, but Harry wouldn’t let her. He wouldn’t let her ruin this.

“And what about those articles you did together? How real were they?”

Harry thought for a moment, and the wand flickered at him. He scowled at it. “Everything I said in those interviews was genuine. Yes, we were trying to show the public another side to Draco so they would sympathise with him, but none of it was a lie.” He stared at the Wizengamot court. “It was the Ministry that taught me not to tell lies after all.”

Silence fell, and Fields eventually gave up and sulked back to her chair.

Cecelia then stood up, and she gave Harry a nod of approval before beginning her line of questioning. It went off without a hitch. She showed Harry’s memories of Draco learning to be more comfortable around Muggles and of him confessing that he wanted to change for the better.

By the time Harry was excused from the witness stand, he was buzzing. They were going to win, he knew they were going to win.

* * *

 

“The Wizengamot calls the witness, Theodore Cantankerus Nott, to the stand.”

The court doors opened and Nott strolled in, his glum face impassive. He didn’t look at anyone as he strode forward and took his seat. Harry clenched his fists, and he could feel Pansy vibrating with anger next to him.

Harry had never been very good at divination, but he had a bad feeling everything was about to go to hell.

“And so, you’re saying that the accused was the ringleader of your group?” Fields asked.

Nott nodded. Harry clenched his fists, letting his nails dig into his hands painfully. He was glad they’d had to turn their wands over before entering the courtroom, because otherwise he probably would have hexed Nott by now.

“Can you elaborate?”

“Draco was always the one to talk about how we were owed more than society gave us because of our blood. He was the one who told us that the Chamber of Secrets being open was the best thing that had ever happened to Hogwarts. He was the one who told us how lucky we were to have Death Eater fathers, and he was so proud of his family’s position in the Dark Lord’s inner circle.”

The room was silent.

Draco’s head was bowed forward, his blond hair obscuring his face. Harry hated it. He hated the vulnerability he could see in Draco’s body posture, and Harry most of all hated the fact that everything Nott was saying was true. Draco had done all those things, and Harry knew it. However, Draco wasn’t that person anymore. He wasn’t still the boy Nott was trying to present him as.

“Tell me more about Draco’s reactions to becoming a Death Eater.”

Nott pressed his fingers together. He was staring straight ahead at Draco with no remorse in his face at betraying his friend. “He was thrilled. I was the first person he told, and he told me that he was going to raise his family back to the glory they once had. The glory the Malfoys had before Potter took it away.” This time Nott met Harry’s eyes. Harry scowled at him.

“As the accused’s oldest and closest friend, do you think that it’s possible that he could have changed his viewpoint in such a short space and time?”

“No.” The wand didn’t flicker. “I think Draco is too set in his ways, and that this is all a desperate bid for survival.”

“And do you think his relationship with Harry Potter is all part of this desperate bid for survival?”

“Yes.”

“You-” Harry started before Ginny’s hand was shoved back into his mouth and Pansy’s nails dug into his leg so hard that he was sure they would leave blood.

Kingsley sent Harry a hard look. “Keep quiet, Mr Potter or you will be asked to leave.”

Fields sent them all a patronising smile. “What makes you so sure that Draco’s relationship with Harry Potter is fake?”

“Draco hated Potter, still hates him,” Nott smiled. It was a terrifying sight, this weedy boy whose heart burnt so strongly with hatred. “People have always underestimated what Draco will do when his life is on the line. It’s how he got one up on Dumbledore. Draco will do anything to save his own life, even convince himself that he likes Potter. It’s how Draco is getting around the Veritaserum: he’s convinced himself that he likes Potter, but he doesn’t. Not really. Mark my words, the second this trial is over, Draco will walk away from Potter and not look back.”

Harry’s blood was boiling. He could feel his magic crying out in anger as he tried to keep it inside. His shoelace started smoking, and Ginny stomped on his foot hard.

Pansy’s grip tightened on his leg, but he wasn’t sure if that was because she wanted him to calm down or if she herself was about to explode.

“And so, do you think everything Mr Malfoy has said today is a manipulation?”

Mr Malfoy. Fuck, Fields was good. By referring to him as Mr Malfoy it reminded the court of Lucius Malfoy, who had manipulated them all for so many years.

“Yes,” Nott said simply. The wand didn’t flicker. Nott did genuinely believe that Draco’s feelings were false. He’d convinced himself of it, and so the Veritaserum couldn’t stop him from saying it.

Pansy exploded. “You fucking liar! You fucking arsehole! How dare you? How fucking dare you, just because Draco didn’t want you anymore?” Her voice caught, and her eyes were bright with tears. “He is our friend! Our friend!”

“Miss Parkinson, sit down!” Kingsley commanded but Pansy ignored him, lifting a finger and pointing it at Nott, who for the first time in the witness stand looked afraid.

“I won’t forget this,” she warned.

“Miss Parkinson, I will have to ask you to step outside and calm down,” Kingsley said. His deep voice remained calm.

Pansy let out a wild laugh. “If you believe anything that comes out of his mouth, you’re just as stupid as I thought.” She turned and stalked out of the room, head held high.

“Order!” Kingsley commanded as the court room buzzed with shock at Pansy’s words. “Order!”

Blaise gave them all a tight-lipped smile before turning and walking out to go calm her down.

Draco was watching wide-eyed, and he turned away when Harry tried to smile at him. Merlin, this was all so shit.

“Does the prosecution have any further questions for Theodore Nott?” said Kingsley once the room had calmed down again.

Fields shook her head. She was wearing a victor’s smile. “No further questions.”

“The defence may now speak,” Kingsley said.

Cecelia stood up, her mouth pressed into a thin line. Another dose of Veritaserum was given to Nott.

“I don’t have too many questions, so I’ll make this quick. Theodore Nott, can you tell me what your relationship with the accused is?”

The wand flickered for the first time. “He means a lot to me.”

“And yet here you are testifying against him. Here you are willing to send your best friend to the Dementors.”

Nott didn’t say anything. Cecelia hadn’t asked him a question.

“Can you tell me why you’re here testifying against him?”

The wand flickered and Nott’s jaw clenched. “Because he’s manipulating you all.” The wand glowed red.

Cecelia turned that viper smile on the courtroom. “I don’t think that’s the only reason. Is it because prior to my client forming an intimate relationship with Harry Potter, he had one with you?”

The wand glowed a brighter shade of red.

“Did you or did you not have an intimate relationship with my client?”

“I did,” Nott said through gritted teeth. The wand returned to green.

“And did my client end your intimate relationship because he had feelings for Harry Potter?”

“Fake feelings!” Nott yelled. His composure was cracking.

Cecelia nodded as if in understanding. “And you were hurt by his rejection of you, weren’t you, Theodore?”

“Yes,” Nott’s voice was strained as if he were doing everything he could to resist the Veritaserum.

“You believed that Draco was yours and yours alone, and when Harry Potter _stole_ him from you, you didn’t like that, did you?” Again, it wasn’t really a question. Nott remained silent but his jaw was clenched painfully tightly. “I present a memory of my client’s for the court of what happened when he broke things off with Theodore Nott.”

The air shimmered as the memory appeared. It was Draco and Nott standing in the doorway of Malfoy Manor, both scowling.

Memory-Draco leaned against the door, arms crossed and let out a sigh. “Honestly, Theo what do you want?”

“No need to take that tone with me, Draco,” Memory-Nott huffed.

Memory-Draco rolled his eyes. “Well, seeing as when we last saw each other you told me you never wanted to see me again, I believe you’ll forgive my confusion. Now, let me repeat myself, what do you want? I’m a busy man after all.”

“How busy can you be locked in a house all day?” Memory-Nott sneered. Harry recognised the way Memory-Draco’s jaw tightened. He looked tired. “Or are you seeing Potter? Are you really kicking me out for Potter?” Memory-Nott let out a bitter laugh.

“This isn’t about Harry,” Memory-Draco said firmly. Harry wanted to see how Draco and Nott were reacting to this, how the rest of the court were reacting but he was transfixed.

This was the meeting between Draco and Nott that had caused Harry and Draco’s argument, he one Draco hadn’t told him about.

Memory-Nott’s sneer grew. “Please don’t insult my intelligence, Draco. I know you’re letting him screw you. Never thought you’d sink so low as to let a half-blood fuck you. What happened to pureblood or nothing? What would daddy say?”

“Fuck you,” Memory-Draco spat out, his own sneer matching Memory-Nott’s. They were a terrifying pair. “And fuck off,” he moved to slam the door in Memory-Nott’s face. Harry felt a vicious victory streak burst through him.

Memory-Nott stuck his foot in the door and glared at Draco, his dark eyes full of bitterness, “I won’t forget this, Draco. Either I have you or no one does.”

“Honestly, Theo you’re starting to sound like a bad villain. Will you please fuck off?” The politeness in Memory-Draco’s tone only made him more powerful. Harry was not turned on by it. Not at all… only slightly.

“Mark my words Draco, you’ll regret this.”

The memory faded from view, and Harry was finally able to look at Nott. His already pasty face was a nasty grey colour as he watched the façade he’d built up crumble down.

Cecelia smiled, and it was a deadly Slytherin smile. “No further questions.”

Harry had to bite his lip to stop himself from snorting as he watched Nott get escorted off the witness stand.

* * *

 

Harry gave Hermione a supportive smile as she was called forward by Kingsley for her own witness statement. It went as he’d expected. Hermione took none of Fields’s shit. Hermione admitted Draco used cruel words as a child, but argued that she truly believed he’d changed and was becoming someone that the Ministry could use as a beacon to show other kids who once shared his beliefs that they could change. She argued it was illogical and irrational for the Ministry to use deterrence when they should be using rehabilitation.

Eventually, she was done and sat back down with a neat smile. Pansy grinned at her – Pansy and Blaise had snuck back in half way through Hermione’s interrogation.

Luna was the next called to the stand. Things were going quickly enough that there was time to fit in one more witness before Kingsley called for the trial to be put on hold. Harry was glad it was Luna who went last. She told Fields that she didn’t believe she had been the only one trapped in Malfoy Manor during the war, and that Draco had been just as much as a prisoner as she had. She told them how Draco had done his best to look after her, and then at the end of her testimony she turned that disarmingly innocent smile on the court and told them to stop looking for the boy they wanted to see and to see the boy that Draco was becoming.

“I think his soul is beautiful. It used to be so dark, and now it shines silver. Don’t you see how cruel it is to remove his soul when it still has so many colours left to learn?”

Kingsley rubbed his temples as Luna was escorted off the witness stand. She paused by Draco and smiled at him.

“There’s a handsome streak of green if you look closely, just here,” Luna mused, leaning in closer. The Aurors went to stop her, but then decided that she was too crazy to do any damage. Draco just stared back at her dumbly. The entire court had lost the ability to speak after witnessing Luna Lovegood. Harry loved her for that.

Sighing, Kingsley flicked his wand. “I think that’s a good place to leave it. We will continue the trial of Draco Lucius Malfoy tomorrow morning.”

Everyone started to file out of the courtroom, and Harry followed. He wanted to try catch a word with Draco outside. However, Harry quickly realised that Draco was being led straight back to the holding cells.

Harry knew he wasn’t thinking straight as he barged through the crowds, stopping short just in front of Draco. Harry could feel all the reporters’ eyes on him, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care because Draco was looking at him, and there was hope shining back in those silver eyes.

Harry certainly wasn’t thinking as he surged forward and pulled Draco into a harsh, desperate kiss, his hand knotting in Draco’s prison robes.

A loud cough sounded from beside him and he turned to see one of the Aurors, who was blushing and refusing to meet Harry’s eyes.

“If you don’t mind, Mr Potter, we, urm, need to return, the prisoner, urm, Mr Malfoy here to his cell…”

Harry nodded, letting go of Draco, who was biting his lip and trying not to smirk. Harry grinned ruefully, “Of course.”

“You don’t mind me being dragged off to a cell?” Draco sniffed, but Harry could see the amusement in his eyes.

The Aurors shot Harry panicked glances, and he shook his head at them. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Draco,” he promised.

“I’ll see you, Harry,” Draco nodded, letting the Aurors drag him away. Harry smiled at the sound of Draco’s plummy voice snapping, “Honestly, I can walk by myself.” If Draco were being rude it meant he had hope.

Harry couldn’t believe his life had come to a place where he was glad to see Draco sodding Malfoy being rude.

“What’s so funny?” Ginny asked as he wandered back over to them, a smile on his lips.

Harry shook his head and followed them out of the court, “Nothing.”

They were going to win. If they could overcome Nott’s argument, then they’d be able to take on Goyle and whatever negative things Neville said. Plus, Harry was excited to see Fields go up against Pansy and Blaise. Hope thrummed through Harry as he left the Ministry. They were going to win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I say how much I love Luna? Like writing her one liners is one of my favourite things about this fic, she's just so sweet.  
> I hope this wasn't too much emotional turmoil for y'all, and the next chapter will be up within the hour :)


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well here it is, the final chapter of Lost Children as I've said there is an epilogue which I will be uploading in the next couple of days but right now I need to go to bed.  
> I hope this chapter does all of your expectations justice.

As Pansy Parkinson took her seat in the witness stand and smiled at the court, Harry realised that Fields had no idea what she was in for.

The two women eyed each other, and Harry knew that as much as Pansy hated Fields for what she was trying to do to Draco, Pansy respected Fields’s skill in the court. Still, Fields had no idea what was about to hit her in the form of Pansy Parkinson.

“So Pansy, you’d call yourself one of the accused’s closest friends?”

“Yep,” Pansy said, popping the ‘p’ at the end loudly, “He’s been one of my closest friends since childhood. Our baby pictures are adorable.”

Harry snorted at that and tried to turn it into a cough; he judged from the glare Hermione gave him that he failed. Bloody Slytherins and their baby pictures.

“Would you say you admired Draco as a child?”

Pansy nodded, “Yeah, I thought the sun shined out of his arse,” she pulled a face, “something I’ve since learnt isn’t so true.”

“What was the accused like at school? Especially in the early years.”

Pansy let out a soft laugh, but there wasn’t a trace of amusement in it. “Haven’t we established that Draco was a pompous arse?” Pansy drawled, throwing Draco a grin. “Sorry, but it’s true. However, it’s not like anyone ever really gave us a chance.”

Her dark eyes were full of a challenge that Fields couldn’t back down from. “A chance?”

“‘ _All Slytherins are evil’; ‘Every_ _bad wizard came from Slytherin,’_ come on you’ve all said it or at least thought it.” Harry had a feeling he wasn’t the only person in the room who cringed at the statement. They all _had_ thought or said it. “What did you expect to happen? We were eleven, and the second our ties turned green, we were beyond saving.”

Fields opened and closed her mouth, dumbstruck, before switching her interrogation to topics that would incriminate Drac. Pansy confessed that Draco had been proud to be a Death Eater at first, that he had wanted to make his father proud but that he had changed throughout the year. He had become a broken shell of the boy she had loved, and now he was healing, healing and improving.

No matter what Fields did, Pansy managed to twist it to show how how Draco much Draco had changed. Fields tried to bring up Pansy’s past and how Pansy had tried to have Harry given over to Voldemort, but Pansy owned it and repeated the argument she’d used with Molly Weasley.

It didn’t matter what Fields said, everyone in the courtroom was turning Pansy’s opening words over and over in their heads. Did they write Slytherins off to0 early? Did they ever give members of Slytherin House a chance?

When Cecelia stepped up to speak to Pansy, she picked up the seeds of doubt Pansy had sowed.

“You said you felt like Slytherins were ostracised too early by everyone else at Hogwarts? That you feel you became what was expected of you?”

Pansy nodded, “I mean, if you tell someone at eleven that they’re a bad guy, and that’s the only role they’ll ever play, why would they try be different? During the war, why would we have turned against our families for people who were always against us?”

Pansy sighed, a heavy sadness in her face. “Maybe if someone had tried to help us see past the prejudices our parents taught us instead of showing us all the reasons our parents were right, things would have been different. I’m not excusing what Draco did, but I want you to understand it,” Pansy gazed around at the court, “Draco isn’t a villain, he’s just a boy who was only taught hatred. I’d like you all to give him the chance to continue learning love.”

Harry had the distinct feeling that Fields and Cecelia weren’t the only lawyers in the room. Pansy and her silver tongue were going to make more trouble than the Ministry ever anticipated.

* * *

 

It was Neville’s turn next. He was led up to the stand and questioned by Fields. Harry didn’t hate or resent Neville for the honesty of his answers, or for the truth he revealed about Draco’s bullying past. Neville confessed that that he could never forgive Draco, and Harry would never ask him to.

Fields sat down with a smug smile, and Cecelia stood up with a blank face. Harry had told her she wouldn’t get much out of Neville and not to bother, but she was determined. She told them it looked weak if she couldn’t get anything out Neville. Harry had warned her not to push Neville too hard. Harry only hoped she had listened.

“You said that you would never be able to forgive my client. Neville, do you stand by that statement?”

“Yes.”

Harry wasn’t sure where Cecelia was going with this, but she hadn’t let them down so far, so he’d trust her. He didn’t have much other choice.

“And what do you think of the forgiveness and trust your friends have installed in Draco Malfoy?”

Neville’s eyes darted over to where Harry and the other Gryffindors sat. “I think they’re barmy, and I don’t understand it at all.”

Fair enough. Harry dragged his hands through his hair. He was too tired to keep it neat this time.

Cecelia nodded. “I understand, but you don’t really think your friends are mental, do you?”

Neville’s mouth twisted, “No, no, I don’t.”

“I’m not asking if you can forgive Draco Neville, all I want to know is if you think Draco’s changed?”

Neville’s bottom lip trembled and his silence carried, “I don’t know.”

“Do you think your friends would be friends with the person Draco used to be?”

Harry met Neville’s eyes and gave him a small smile. “No. I don’t.”

Cecelia’s voice was soft, and yet it carried throughout the entire courtroom. “So, do you think that Draco Malfoy has good in him?”

Neville’s eyes fluttered shut, and the wand flickered but remained green. “I do.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because the Harry I know, the Harry who is my friend, could never care for someone like the Malfoy I knew, so I suppose… Yeah… Draco Malfoy must have changed.”

Harry’s mouth had dropped open at Neville’s statement. Harry had never expected Neville to say anything like that about Draco. Harry respected that Neville hated Draco, and Harry had presumed that Neville just genuinely couldn’t see any good in Draco. Given Draco’s history of relentlessly bullying of Neville, Harry had understood his friend’s feelings. Hearing Neville’s words made Harry’s heart swell.

“Thank you,” Harry mouthed at Neville, who shrugged at him, a small smile on his face.

When Neville was excused, he didn’t stick around and just left the room. Harry, however, could see the amazement on Draco’s face as his eyes followed Neville out of the courtroom. Draco wouldn’t forget what Neville had done for him anytime soon.

* * *

 Blaise was the next one to take the stand, his face impassive as ever as Fields started to question him. He told her how yes, he had distanced himself from Draco, especially in sixth year and how they’d never been that close to start with anyway.

“So despite Miss Parkinson’s claim that people in Slytherin had no choice but to side with the Death Eaters, you’re proof that there was a choice?” Fields asked.

A huff sounded from Pansy. “Not what I said,” she muttered, but a quelling look from Hermione kept her from losing her cool again.

Blaise inspected his nails before speaking. “I think the word ‘choice’ is overused in this argument,” Blaise said. Fields started to interrupt him, but he kept speaking and didn’t give her the chance. “You all keep trying to make this a debate about whether or not Draco had  choices. And if he did have choices, did he take the easy option?”

Blaise raised his eyebrows and folded his hands. “Let me tell you now that nothing about what Draco went through in the war was the easy option. You all criticise him for not making the right choices, but wasn’t it right of him to protect his family and friends? Define the _right choice_ for me?” Blaise gave Fields a small smile. _He really was a beautiful bastard_ , Harry couldn’t help but note.

“Right is-” Fields started, but Blaise cut her off.

“Right for me is keeping yourself and those you love alive.”

“So you do think Draco Malfoy had a choice in his decisions?” Fields said, trying desperately to beat Blaise at his own game.

Blaise’s smile told the entire court that Fields had lost. “Is it really a choice if the other option is death? Is it really a choice if you’ve only ever been taught to think one way? Is it really a choice when you can see no way out?” Harry was pretty sure you could have heard a pin drop in that moment. “Personally, I don’t think it really is a choice, so no, for me Draco Malfoy didn’t have a choice.”

Harry wanted to stand up and cheer, cheer for the slipperiness of Slytherins and their razor-sharp tongues. Cheer for Slytherins who stood up for their own.

“Do you have any further questions?” Blaise asked Fields innocently.

She shook her head, and Cecelia took over.

* * *

A quick recess was called before the final two witnesses took the stand and the Wizengamot convened to make their final decision.

Harry didn’t know who was worse at hiding their nerves, him or Pansy. They both chugged down two cups of coffee and took to pacing around the cafeteria listening to Cecelia explain the game plan for Goyle. They had no idea what he was going to say, so she would have to do some very quick thinking to counter whatever Fields got out of him. A positive, Cecelia assured them, was the fact that they ended with Ron: having the final witness be for the defence gave them the advantage. Then Cecelia and Fields would make their closing statements, and Draco’s fate would be in the hands of the Wizengamot.

Harry had to sit down and put his head in between his knees as a sudden wave of anxiety hit him. They were so close to the end.

“I just don’t understand why Greg would turn on Draco like this?” Pansy sighed, collapsing down next to Harry.

“Theo got to him, the silly git,” Blaise sighed, rubbing his hand against Pansy’s back. She shot him a grateful smile.

Harry closed his eyes and let the general bustling noises of the Ministry cafeteria sweep him away from the moment. He was going to sleep for ten years when this was over. Fuck Auror training, Harry Potter was taking a nap.

After what seemed like thirty seconds but was actually a few minutes, Cecelia ushered them back into the court. She’d taken on the role of squad mother.

Harry spared a thought for Lucius and Narcissa, alone down in their cells with no way of what was happening to their son. He imagined they were going mad. Harry was going mad, and he knew what was going on. 

* * *

“The Wizengamot calls the witness, Gregory Alfred Goyle, to the stand,” Kingsley boomed.

Harry turned to see Goyle walking slowly down the centre of the court to the witness stand. Unlike Nott, he didn’t look self-assured. His fists were clenched at his side, and his face was tense.

“Hey, Goyle’s name spells out GAG,” Ginny whispered in his ear. Despite the situation he couldn’t help but snicker.

“Tell Ron,” Harry whispered back, and he knew when she had because he heard Ron snort. Hermione fixed them all with a stern glare, and Harry tried not to get the giggles. Ron was failing awfully, and Hermione had to give him a water bottle to calm him down. Luckily, by the time Goyle was sat down in the witness seat, they were all under control.

Laughing had relaxed Harry slightly, and his head felt like it was on straighter. He didn’t know if Ginny had known it would help or just got lucky, but he gave her a thankful smile anyway. The smile he got back suggested that Ginny had known exactly what she was doing.

Fields sorted her documents momentarily before standing up and walking towards Goyle, who still looked slightly terrified. Harry wasn’t sure what the fuck he was doing up there.

“Gregory, can you tell me about your relationship with the accused?” Fields asked.

There was a long pause before Goyle spoke, his slow voice stammering over the words, “I’ve known Draco since I was… Since before we could talk. All our fathers were friends…” he trailed off, “me, Vince, and Draco that is…” Fields nodded in understanding. “I thought we were like brothers but…” he paused and Harry could see him grabbling for the words, “Draco Malfoy doesn’t have friends, he has minions.” The wand stayed green.

Draco visibly flinched. Harry heard the reporters’ pens scratching away and their cameras clicking.

“He’s fucking reciting Theo, Greg would never say that,” Pansy said, her voice bordering on hysterical. Kingsley shot them a firm look, and Blaise took Pansy’s hand to quiet her.

Fields smiled, “And what makes you say that, Gregory?”

Goyle thought again, “Once he didn’t need Vince and me anymore --” Goyle’s voice croaked, and Harry saw the pain at losing his best friend shine across Goyle’s face. Harry had spent so many years believing none of his Slytherin classmates had feelings, and he had been so wrong. “-- he replaced us with Pansy and Blaise, and when he didn’t need Theo, he replaced him with Potter.”

“That’s not true,” Draco’s voice whispered in the silence that fell when Goyle finished speaking. Despite the fact that he whispered, his voice echoed in the hall.

“Mr Malfoy, please remain silent,” Kingsley said.

Draco’s head fell and he clenched his fists, but he kept his silence.

“Please continue,” Fields smirked.

However, Goyle remained silent and just blinked at her. He seemed to have been thrown into a stupor by Draco’s comment.

“Gregory, will you please expand on your comment about how the accused uses people?” Field’s voice had grown sharp.

Goyle nodded, brows deeply furrowed. “He used Vince and me as body guards, we were nothing more than shields to him. He didn’t care when- when- when,” he let out a loud sob, “He didn’t care when Vince died!”

“That’s not true!” Draco yelled.

Goyle’s shoulders were shaking, and tears tracked down his cheeks.

Pansy was shaking her head desperately, “He loved them! Draco loves them!” she hissed, squeezing Blaise’s hand tighter.

“Mr Malfoy!” Kingsley’s voice grew louder.

“You were- you are my friends,” Draco croaked out, “and I am sorry.” His shoulders slumped.

“Ms. Greengrass, please get your client under control,” Kingsley said.

Cecelia nodded and started whispering furiously to Draco, who nodded weakly.

“My apologies, Minister,” Cecelia said, “You can imagine the emotional toll this is taking on my client.”

Kingsley nodded, “I understand, but he must remain silent.”

“Of course,” Cecelia said. She gave Draco a firm look, which only made him shrink further into himself. Harry wanted to wrap his arms around Draco and hold him until he was himself again.

“May I continue?” Fields asked with a smarmy smile.

Kingsley gestured for her to go on.

“And so, was Draco Malfoy the ringleader of Dark activity in the Slytherin common room?”

Goyle said nothing, but the wand didn’t flicker. It was as if he didn’t know what to think anymore. Draco’s words had thrown him so completely that he’d forgotten all the things Nott had told him.

“Mr Goyle,” Fields’s voice sharpened.

He stared at her blankly before moving his eyes back to Draco, as if Draco’s face held all the answers he needed.

“Mr Goyle,” Kingsley prompted.

Goyle blinked slowly. “Draco was the smart one. He always used to help us with our homework… He tutored us for our OWLs.”

Field’s sighed, as Goyle hadn’t really answered her question. “So, Draco Malfoy was the evil mastermind?”

Ron let out a snort and mouthed to Harry, “Malfoy, the evil mastermind?” Harry had to agree that the suggestion seemed ludicrous now, but Harry had been convinced of that in sixth year.

“Draco’s not evil,” Goyle said, forehead wrinkling.

Harry’s breath caught. Could Goyle be changing his mind?

“But he was the one who got you all into the Dark Arts? He was the one who led to Vincent Crabbe’s death, was he not?”

Harry wanted to hex Fields for suggesting such a thing. He knew Draco blamed himself for Crabbe’s death when it was in fact entirely Crabbe’s fault for casting the Fiendfyre spell.

“Our parents were just as involved with the Dark Arts as Lucius Malfoy. We wanted it just as much as Draco.” Field’s mouth twisted; this was not going as she’d planned. “I don’t think Draco led to Crabbe’s death, he- he-” Goyle released another loud sob, “Draco didn’t want to hurt Potter, and it was Crabbe who cast that spell.” He was sobbing hard now, and his words were becoming incoherent.

“Do you need a moment, Mr Goyle?” Kingsley asked. The Wizengamot were all frowning at each other.

Goyle shook his head and clasped his hands tightly in front of him. Harry wished he could see more than Draco’s back, wished he could see what Draco was thinking.

“Draco didn’t want to do any of it by the end, he told us… he didn’t want it,” Goyle was staring at Draco. Harry imagined Draco was staring back.

“I have your memories of the accused bragging about being given a task by You-Know-Who!” Fields snapped, desperately grasping at straws to remain in control of this testimony.

Goyle nodded slowly, “I also have memories of Draco crying when he realised what he’d done. What he’d got himself in for.”

The court exploded with a flurry of whispers, and Fields scowled.

“No further questions,” she said, storming back to her seat.

Harry turned to look at Pansy, who was staring at Goyle with a look of wonder on her face. Goyle had cracked. He’d realised that Nott had been lying to him.

“Order! Order!” Kingsley commanded as Cecelia stood up to speak.

Harry reached over and took Hermione’s hand. She smiled at him. They were going to win. The Ministry couldn’t give Draco the Kiss with these testimonies. They couldn’t.

The rest of Goyle’s testimony went off easily with Cecelia having him present a softer, more vulnerable side to the Draco Malfoy who had walked the halls of Hogwarts: The loyalty he’d shown to his friends, the way he’d defended Crabbe and Goyle to those who mocked them for being too thick to be Slytherins. They hadn’t just been Draco’s bodyguards, he’d been theirs as well.

Finally, it was Ron’s turn. Fields gave her all, playing off the family hatred between the Weasleys and the Malfoys, and Ron couldn’t deny it because of the Veritaserum. Ron also had to admit to his initial distrust of Draco and the way he confessed that he still didn’t trust him.

However, then Cecelia stood up and had Ron talking about the ways he had seen Draco change and the trust he put in Harry’s judge of character.

“I mean don’t get me wrong, I still think Malfoy’s a right prat, but he plays a mean game of chess and if Harry likes him,” Ron gave Harry a crooked smile, “means I think there is definitely something in there worth saving.” The wand stayed green.

The statement was so Ron and so amazing that Harry wanted to run up there and hug him. Ron, who had hated Draco with everything he had, was willing to accept and try to understand him because of Harry. Ron who genuinely did believe Draco was worth saving.

Harry beamed at Ron, who smiled back at him.

* * *

 “I now ask the prosecution to step forward to make their final statements,” Kingsley said.

Fields stood up and smoothed down her already tidy robes. “Over this trial, we have heard irrefutable evidence that Draco Lucius Malfoy, the accused, signed up for the Death Eaters of his own free will and only began to regret it when _his_ life was in danger. For all that the witnesses talk of his loyalty, the accused never once thought of the danger he was putting the wider world in.

“This is not a trial about loyalty to the _wrong sort_ of wizards or whether or not children can forgive a childhood bully. This is a trial about the danger someone like Mr Malfoy presents to wizarding society with the values he holds and his questionable morals. We must set an example to the rest of society that we, in our new world, will not stand for blood prejudice, so I ask you not to look at this trial with your emotions but with regard to the cold hard facts you have seen.

“Draco Malfoy had choices, and if the situation were played again, he would make the same ones. I beseech you not to give him the chance.”

The Wizengamot started whispering and fell quiet as Cecelia stood up.

“Over this trial, you have heard from the people who have loved and hated Draco Malfoy the strongest, the people who know him best. You have seen firsthand Draco’s struggles to overcome the prejudices instilled in him from the day he was born. And you have seen that he has succeeded and that he is changing.

“Draco Malfoy is a beacon of hope to society, hope that people can always change. Hope is not logical but emotional, and if we try to separate our emotions from this case then we are doing my client a disservice. We are doing ourselves a disservice.”

Harry didn’t think he was breathing as everyone shuffled out of the courtroom to give the Wizengamot a chance to discuss their ruling and possible sentences. He didn’t want Draco to go to Azkaban, but Cecelia warned them the Wizengamot could simply chose to compromise between the prosecution and defence’s demands.

* * *

 

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Pansy whimpered, poking away the slice of cake Hermione had given her.

Harry nodded in sympathy. He couldn’t stomach the thought of eating right now. If Draco were sent away for any period of time Harry was going to go mad.

“It’s all going to be fine. We have both logic and emotion on our side if you ask me,” Hermione said. Her voice was tight and prim.

A cough had them all looking up to see Goyle standing there, his hands shoved deep in his pockets and guilt on his face. “Do you mind if I join?”

Pansy and Blaise stared at him before both smiling softly. “Sit,” Pansy said, passing him her piece of cake. It was a peace offering, an act of acceptance.

Goyle had chosen Draco in the end, and now he looked just as terrified as the rest of them.

* * *

 

Thirty minutes later they were summoned back into the courtroom. Harry was certainly going to be sick.

Draco was led back into the courtroom, head held high as the Aurors flanked him.

Searching the Wizengamot’s faces, Harry tried to get a glimpse of what was happening. Was the set of Robards’s jaw due to victory or loss?

Hermione was shaking next to him, her hand entwined with Pansy’s, whose face was a haughty mask. She, Blaise, and Goyle didn’t show their fear, Slytherin’s own form of bravery. They were being strong for themselves, for each other, and for Draco.

Draco glanced around, and Harry caught his eyes and gave him the smallest of smiles. Draco nodded at him. This was it. This was the moment they had been waiting for.

“Those in favour of sentencing the accused?” said Justus Pilliwickle the Third, Head of the Department of Magical Law.

One by one hands raised, and Harry’s fists clenched. There were too many hands up, too many. It had to be over half, right? Oh god, they had lost, despite everything they had lost.

“Those in favour of clearing the accused of all charges?” Pilliwickle said.

The hands started rising, but how many of them? Kingsley’s own hand rose, but Harry didn’t know if that meant anything.

Kingsley lowered his hand and gazed at the crowd, his face blank. “Very well, Draco Lucius Malfoy, you have been cleared of all charges. You are free to go.”

Pansy shrieked. She was out of her seat and running towards Draco and pulling him into her arms before anyone could stop her.

Harry stared at Kingsley, and Kingsley nodded at him. They’d done it.

Blaise and Goyle were wrapping their arms around Draco, and Goyle was crying. Reporters were rushing forward, questioning Kingsley, Robards, Fields, and Cecelia. They were yelling at Harry, Ron, and Hermione for their views.

The Slytherins eventually let go of Draco to let the Aurors remove his shackles and the anklet that stifled his magic.

Harry saw the moment that Draco felt magic return to him for the first time since the war ended. His eyes glowed, and his skin seemed healthier than it had in weeks. He looked beautiful. He looked incredible.

Draco’s eyes finally met Harry’s across the courtroom. He could feel their magic crackling, entwining, reaching out, and exploring each other. He wasn’t aware of his feet moving as he started walking towards Draco. Draco was walking towards him, a dumbstruck smile on his face.

Harry pushed through the reporters and the crowds until they were standing in front of each other. His magic sung as it responded to the call of Draco’s.

“I told you we’d do it,” Harry said, a small smile at his lips. He still couldn’t believe it.

Draco let out a weak laugh, “Only you would say I told you so.”

“Nah, you’d say it if the situation were reversed,” Harry shrugged, his smile growing.

Draco laughed properly, “Shut up and kiss me, Harry.” Harry wasn’t going to say no, as Draco pulled him and kissed him.

Harry didn’t want to appear biased, but he was pretty sure it was the best kiss anyone had ever had. He didn’t care if it were all over the papers tomorrow, all he cared about was Draco’s lips on his and their magic. Oh, their magic. The world could have ended in that moment and Harry wouldn’t have noticed or cared.

Pansy broke them apart eventually with a fond roll of her eyes as she pulled Draco into another bone-crushing hug. Harry let Draco spend the time with his friends. He could kiss Draco later. They had as long as they wanted to do whatever they wanted.

Harry turned at the sound of someone clearing his throat to find Robards glaring at him. “Hello, Sir,” Harry said, trying to be respectful since he was starting Auror training in the next week. He wasn’t going to apologise for ruining Robards’s trial though.

“Hello, Potter,” Robards nodded, “I just wanted to say well done. I didn’t think it could be done, but you’ve clearly managed to change a Malfoy.”

Harry grinned, “Thank you Sir, but I think Draco did it himself, really.”

Robards’s eyes strayed to where the Slytherins were celebrating in a particularly unSlytherin manner: there was no masks in sight. “Perhaps,” he mused, and Harry tried not to let his grin grow. “Wipe that grin off your face or I’ll have you running laps come Monday morning.”

Harry bit his lip and did an awful job of not grinning, “Course, Sir.”

Robards shook his head, but there was a smile on his face. “See you Monday, Potter.”

“See you Monday, Sir,” Harry said, watching his new boss walk away. He felt slightly dumbstruck, but then Pansy pulled him in for another hug and he let himself get swept away in the celebrations.

* * *

 

Pansy dragged them out to the Leaky Cauldron for a victory drink. Draco had wanted to see his parents, but the Aurors had told him he couldn’t, not yet. He could see them at their trials. It was Narcissa’s tomorrow.

The group received a few strange looks, and people whispered about their opinions of what should have happened at the trial. Harry just took Draco’s hand under the table, squeezing it softly. The papers could tell the public whatever they wanted. It didn’t matter what they thought now. Draco was free.

The rest of the Gryffindors who were comfortable with the Slytherins (and who hadn’t gone off to Hogwarts already) joined them for a drink. Bulstrode, Daphne Greengrass, and a couple of other Slytherins turned up, offering the Gryffindors tentative smiles and eagerly accepting the drinks offered to them.

It was a strange afternoon with them all learning to break down the prejudices they’d held against each other from the moment the hat sorted them, but it worked. The world was strange after the war, and they were all just having to learn to adjust.

Harry leaned his head on Draco’s shoulder and watched his friends. They were all beacons of hope for the post-war world, and they were all going to be okay.

Eventually, Pansy, Hermione, Ginny, and Luna had to run to catch their portkey to Hogwarts. The goodbyes were emotional, but they all promised to meet up again soon.

“Are you staying at the Manor tonight?” Harry asked, swirling his finger in the foam of his butterbeer.

Draco chewed on his lip and swiped his own finger through the foam of Harry’s butterbeer. Harry tried not to swallow at how good Draco looked sucking it off. “I’d rather not, but I suppose I have nowhere else to stay so...” he shrugged. There was a heavy sadness weighing down his face, and Harry swept his fingers along Draco’s jaw.

“You can stay with me?”

“At the Burrow? I don’t think the Weasleys would exactly welcome me with open arms,” Draco said, wrinkling his nose. Harry knew that was fair. Molly and Arthur were doing their best to be supportive of him and Draco, but baby steps were certainly necessary.

“I have a house here in London, Grimmauld Place, we could stay there…” Harry couldn’t read Draco’s expression as he stared at him, “if you want of course.”

Draco smiled. It was soft and warm, and Harry’s heart skipped a beat. “I’d like that, if you’ll have me.”

“I’ll have you,” Harry nodded, leaning in and sweeping his lips over Draco’s quickly.

Ron let out a groan, but it was a good-natured sound.

“Just go and do whatever the two of you do that I don’t want to think about,” Ron sighed. Harry wasn’t going to refuse a gift like that.

* * *

 

They’d barely made it through the door before Draco was kissing Harry up against the wall, rutting desperately.

“Wait,” Harry tried to get out as Draco attached his mouth to his neck.

Licking a stripe up Harry’s neck, Draco growled, “I have spent the last couple of nights in a fucking cell, Harry, do not tell me to wait!”

“No seriously,” Harry panted.

“Scum! Filth!” A shriek echoed through the hall, and Draco jumped back, terrified.

“What is that?” Draco gasped, mouth already slightly swollen. Fuck, he looked hot. Harry wanted to drag him straight past bloody Walburga Black and up to bed. Or maybe he’d screw Draco against the wall here and give Walburga something to complain about.

Harry offered Draco a weak smile, “That would be Walburga Black, Sirius’s mother.”

“No way,” Draco laughed as he scurried up the hallway to where the insulting screeches were coming from. Harry stared after him. He knew Draco was strange, but this was a new reaction to Walburga. “Hullo, Great Aunt Walburga,” Draco’s plummy voice came from down the hall.

“Fil- Young Draco Malfoy? Well, I never,” Walburga cooed, “Cissy’s little boy?”

Harry blinked dumbly. There was almost affection in her voice.

“Yes, that’s me,” Draco said.

“Finally, someone of good breeding in the House of Black again,” she said back to him. Harry could have sworn the house let out a happy sigh, but perhaps the stress of the day was getting to him. Houses didn’t let out happy sighs. “You would not believe the people that have been traipsing through my poor house.”

Draco let out a noise of sympathy, “I can imagine.”

Harry finally managed to get his feet moving, and Walburga sent a disparaging noise his way when he reached Draco.

“This is the moronic, half-breed who has been left as Master of my house,” she huffed, but she didn’t screech it. Also, as she was dead and only a painting, she’d never been able to get under Harry’s skin.

Draco chuckled, and Harry stepped on his foot, “Oh, Harry’s not so bad, Auntie.”

Walburga huffed and raised her eyebrows, but she didn’t argue. Instead, she just closed her eyes and went to sleep.

“How did you do that?” Harry hissed, dragging Draco away from the painting and into the sitting room before she changed her mind.

Draco raised his eyebrows. It was the same expression that Walburga had used, and it was unnerving as hell. “Do what?”

“Calm her down, she hates everyone,” Harry said.

“She didn’t hate me,” Draco said smugly. Harry wanted to slap the expression off his face or kiss it off, either would do.

Rolling his eyes, Harry said, “I gathered that, and I want to know how. I’ve never been able to get her to shut up.”

“Have you tried being polite? I’ve heard manners will get you everywhere,” Draco laughed, winding his hands around Harry’s waist. “Also, why does your house have a picture of my great aunt in it?”

“Because she won’t fucking leave,” Harry grumbled, scowling at Draco’s smug face, “Now are you going to shut up and kiss me or what?”

For a moment, he thought Draco was going to argue with him out of principle, but thankfully Draco decided against it. Harry might have had to hex him otherwise.

They collapsed together on the sofa, rutting against each other. They didn’t even get around to taking their clothes off before they came in their pants like the teenagers they are.

Harry waved his hand lazily to clean them up.

“Your wandless magic is hot,” Draco mumbled, lips brushing Harry’s neck, “I’ll need to master that or buy myself a new wand.”

Harry frowned, “Why do you need a new wand?” He blinked and then remembered that he had taken Draco’s wand and used it to defeat Voldemort. He hadn’t spared it a thought since then, as Draco had been locked up and unable to use magic. “Your wand!”

“Yes, Harry, my wand,” Draco nodded dryly.

“No, I mean it’s upstairs, your wand is upstairs,” Harry said. About one hundred emotions seemed to fly across Draco’s face at once.

“You still have my wand?”

Harry nodded. There hadn’t been room at the Burrow for all of his things, including Draco’s wand, so he’d shoved them into his old school trunk and left them in one of the upstairs rooms of Grimmauld Place.

“Can I, have it?” Draco asked. There was a soft tremor in his voice, and Harry kissed him.

“Of course, it’s yours,” Harry said.

He took Draco’s hand and led him upstairs. The house was still in a pretty good state from Harry and his friends’ intensive cleaning mission a couple of weeks ago. However, there seemed to be a soft golden light that flowed through it now. Harry refused to believe it was celebrating the return of a Black, but he couldn’t think of what else it could be.

Harry opened the door to one of the spare rooms and started to rummage around in his trunk until he emerged victorious, Draco’s wand in his hand. It hummed in welcome, pleased to be used again after having been locked away so long. Harry had grown fond of the wand from the time he’d spent using it. It had been the wand that killed Voldemort, after all.

Harry held it out for Draco, whose hand shook as he reached out and took it. He gave it an experimental wave, and a few silver sparks burst out of the end.

The look on Draco’s face was one of childlike glee as he waved his wand again.

“ _Lumos_ ,” Draco said, laughing as a bright light came out of his wand.

“Easy as riding a bike,” Harry murmured.

Draco paused and wrinkled his nose, “What?”

“Muggle saying,” Harry shrugged. Draco waved his wand again, and Harry couldn’t stop himself from leaning in and kissing him. “We won,” he whispered against Draco’s lips.

Draco nodded and threaded his hand through Harry’s hair. “That we did,” Draco murmured not breaking the kiss.

Harry melted into Draco’s arms and started moving them towards the bed, his magic singing in his veins as it answered the call of Draco’s own magic.

They could deal with the rest of the world when it came to it, but for right now in this moment, it was just the two of them. And, fuck, did it feel good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well there we go, the final chapter (excluding the epilogue but that's just wrapping up all the lose ends.)  
> Thank you to everyone who has joined me on Draco and Harry's journey throughout this monster of a fic that has taken up my entire summer. Before I started writing this I was in quite a low place having just come out of a nearly four year relationship and this has been my project.  
> I have loved all of your comments along the way and I really am sorry for the delay!!  
> As always comments and kudos are my birthday and Christmas rolled into one and if you want to come chat about the fic or just in general find me as always at callingdrarry on tumblr!!  
> Love you all <3


	17. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well here it is, the epilogue. I hope it answers any questions you may have and ties up the lose ends, I do plan on posting a couple of one shots about Harry/Draco's lives post Lost Children and I hope you enjoy them. I'll write more at the end but for now, for the last time in this fic, enjoy!! <3

“You’re dead, Harry!” Draco yelled as Harry streaked across the sky away from his fuming boyfriend.

Harry turned his head slightly to see a flash of blond hair behind him and Draco’s wide smile, “Funny, you’d think I’d have stopped breathing by now.”

“Harry, will you stop fucking flirting and catch the fucking snitch! My arse is about to freeze off!” Ron shouted from where he hovered in front of the make shift goal.

“You’re a wizard, cast a warming spell,” Harry shouted back, darting out of Draco’s way so he couldn’t be hit by a revenge snowball.

Harry heard Ron’s huff, “It’s the principle!”

“Gryffindors,” Draco sighed, shaking his head. It was slightly hypocritical of Draco to say that whilst wearing Harry’s Gryffindor scarf wound tightly around his neck. It suited Draco though. The fact that Draco looked so good in Harry’s clothes was the only reason he let him get away with stealing them all the time.

Draco’s favourite items to steal had been Harry’s Weasley jumpers, because as much as Draco pretended to laugh at them, he would also mumble that they were too soft to not be worn. Molly had even made Draco his own for Christmas, a beautiful soft grey with a green snake curling around the collar.

Harry hadn’t missed the way Draco’s cheeks had burnt red, and the genuine thanks he’d given Mrs Weasley as he’d pulled it on. It was a mark of acceptance, and it meant that Mrs Weasley supported their relationship.

Harry had tried to thank her in the kitchen later, but she’d just shooed him away to go have fun. But Harry hadn’t missed her warm smile as she’d watched Draco wearing it all day. Auror training was making Harry more observant, even if it was bloody tiring.

It had been one year since Draco’s trial and since Harry had started Auror training. Pansy and Hermione had graduated from Hogwarts with top NEWTs and had enrolled immediately in Muggle law school. The wizarding world wasn’t going to know what had hit them by the time they were done with it.

Ginny let out a loud whoop as she scored another goal against Ron, who started berating Harry again for not catching the bloody snitch in time. None of them stood a chance against Ginny anymore, not since she’d started training with the Holyhead Harpies after finishing Hogwarts at the beginning of the summer. She was pegged to be on the starting line-up at the new year.

A flutter of gold just by Draco’s head caught Harry’s eyes, and he was diving before he’d even processed what it was. Seekers’ reflexes. Out of habit Draco threw his broom forward behind Harry, yelling obscenities at him, but it was in vain. Harry emerged victorious, hand gripped tightly around the snitch as Ron jeered at Ginny.

At times like this Molly made them leave their wands in the kitchen, because otherwise Ron would have been on the receiving end of Ginny’s Bat Bogey Hex, an outcome no one wanted.

“It’s dinner time!” Molly yelled.

They all landed, teasing and ribbing each other over the game, and Hermione greeted them with hot chocolate. Hermione loved when the Slytherins joined them, because it meant that she didn’t have to participate in the game. The Slytherins didn’t come often, but it was Boxing Day and Molly had invited all of Dumbledore’s Army. She’d even extended the offer to Pansy and Blaise. Draco was always welcome now, she had promised.

Pansy and Blaise argued good-naturedly with Seamus and Dean, who wrapped their arms around each other as they walked back to the house. Harry didn’t know what had changed, but when Dean returned from Hogwarts, he’d finally realised what he was missing. The pair had never been happier.

“You got lucky.” Harry turned at the sound of Draco’s voice and grinned.

“Oh, did I?” Harry asked, “You know you can’t use that as an excuse every time I win?”

Draco huffed. His pale face was flushed and his lips chapped, but he smiled as he took Harry’s hand.

Harry had missed him whilst he was gallivanting across the world and country with Blaise and sometimes Goyle. Draco had assured Harry that there was no gallivanting going on whenever he fire-called, ranting about another stuck-up family who refused to part with their family heirlooms for the good of the wizarding world’s first museum. Harry didn’t believe Draco, who was clearly having the time of his life.

Draco’s museum was set to open early in the new year, and Harry couldn’t be prouder of him. He was also secretly looking forward to having Draco home for good.

The lease on his and Ron’s apartment ran out after Christmas, and Ron understandably was moving in with Hermione. Harry and Draco were moving into Grimmauld Place indefinitely. They couldn’t decide whether or not to get a new place. Grimmauld Place wasn’t the dark, gloomy place that Harry had known during the war; it had flourished under Draco’s care, as he stayed there whenever he was home from his travels with Blaise and Goyle. Harry had insisted on it. He’d also had to accept that the house did preen when Draco stayed in it, and even Walburga was tolerable because of it.

Hermione had tried explaining wizarding houses’ sentience, but Harry had shut her off before she could get into a full explanation. He didn’t care that much, and secretly he liked that his house was so fond of Draco.

“I’ll get you next time,” Draco grumbled as followed everyone else inside.

“You say that every time,” Harry grinned, and Draco just flipped him off.

The Burrow was full of life as all the Weasleys and Dumbledore’s Army bustled around, but it didn’t feel overly packed. It felt right.

Harry let himself get swept away in the atmosphere as he chatted to Bill about his work and raising Victorie. Harry was pretty sure that George had spiked the eggnog, but he didn’t mind. He was just happy that George was pranking people again. Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes was everywhere now, and Lee Jordan had become a full-time partner.

Harry’s eyes fell on Draco, who was engaged in conversation with Andromeda, Teddy bouncing on his knee. Draco had become a lot closer to his Aunt since they’d bumped into each other at Narcissa’s trial.

Harry had ended up speaking for Narcissa and Lucius.  He had done it for Narcissa because she had saved him, because she loved her son, and because despite her fucked up decisions, she wasn’t a wholly bad person. She had been changing just as Draco had. She’d been given three years in Azkaban, but it could be less with good behaviour. Harry had spoken for Lucius because Harry didn’t want anyone, particularly Draco, to suffer the loss of their parents. Lucius had been given fifteen years in Azkaban, but at least he wasn’t dead. Harry thought that was more than he owed Lucius.

Harry and Draco had spent Christmas eve in Azkaban, visiting with Draco’s parents. Draco had insisted that Harry didn’t have to come, but there was no way that Harry was letting him go to Azkaban alone. He’d made the right decision, as Draco didn’t let go of Harry’s hand the whole time they were there.

Seeing the Malfoys so tired and thin had not been a pleasant experience, but there had been determination in Narcissa’s eyes as she spoke to them about their lives. Lucius had only made a few thinly veiled jabs about Draco opening up his home for public consumption, so Harry considered it a win.

Harry made his excuses to Fleur and wandered over to join Luna, Ginny, and Neville who were chatting away happily on the sofa.

“Too much eggnog?” Ginny asked, pulling a sympathetic face.

Harry shook his head. He was just happy, although that seemed far too sappy to say.

“What did George put in this stuff?” Neville asked, wrinkling his nose as he sniffed it. Neville had joined Hogwarts in September under the watchful eye of Professor Sprout, and he seemed happier and more confident than Harry had ever seen him. Neville had even stopped flinching every time Draco entered a room. The two were never going to be anything like close friends, but they were at least managing to be civil.

“I hope it’s Wackspurt juice.  I’ve heard it can cause the most amazing hallucinations,” Luna sighed, and Ginny laughed, placing a messy kiss on her girlfriend’s cheek.

“Mental,” Ron mouthed as he passed by. Harry snorted into his drink, careful to not get caught by Ginny. People didn’t make the mistake of laughing at Luna in front of Ginny more than once.

Harry was going to miss living with Ron, but they were Auror partners so it’s not as if he didn’t see his best mate pretty much nearly all of every day. Also, not living with Ron might mean that the food supplies didn’t need restocking daily.

Heading back into the kitchen, Harry helped himself to a piece of leftover chocolate cake and stared out at the snowy garden of the Burrow. His life seemed so peaceful now, so simple. It was more than he could have ever hoped for.

He felt arms wrapping around his waist, and soft hair brushed against his face as Draco leant his head onto Harry’s shoulder. “Knut for your thoughts?”

“Wizards really need to find a better saying, because that sounds so dirty,” Harry said.

He could almost feel Draco rolling his eyes. “Just because you’ve got a filthy mind.”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t thought it at least once,” Harry laughed.

Draco’s laugh was warm against his cheek. “Perhaps, now tell me what you were thinking.”

They still played that game of passing their thoughts backwards and forwards.

“I’m thinking of how happy I am.”

Draco was silent for a moment before letting out a small huff of laughter. “Gosh, you’re a sap sometimes.”

Harry turned and wrapped his arms around Draco’s neck, gazing up into his handsome face. Freedom agreed with Draco. “Maybe, but I’m your sap.”

Draco rolled his eyes again but couldn’t hide the smile on his face. “That you are,” he said.

A jingle above their heads had them both glancing up.

“Fucking Weasels,” Draco laughed, shaking his head. It was George and Lee’s Christmas special, mistletoe that hunted down those with sexual tension. You couldn’t escape it without kissing which, according to George, had led to some both hilarious and awkward situations. Understandably, the product had received mixed reviews.

Harry didn’t need a piece of charmed mistletoe to make him kiss Draco, but he wasn’t going to protest. Draco’s lips were still cold as Harry kissed him, but his breath was warm. “I love you,” Harry murmured into the kiss.

“I love you too,” Draco whispered back.

A chorus of whistles went off as people in the sitting room caught sight of them, but Harry just flipped them off and kept kissing Draco. Draco smiled into the kiss, and Harry laughed. Let them look.

**The End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finish.  
> Can you believe it's the end?? I can't just aghh wow wtf just aghh. Thank you for bearing with me  
> This fic has been a journey that I have loved and I don't know how to put into words how much I've appreciated everyone who's left comments, kudos or even come over to Tumblr to speak to me about the fic.  
> Again the biggest shoutouts to LLAP115 my cheerleader who encouraged this fic even when I was ready to throw it into the bin. Also, tdcat my beta, who has endured my lack of grammar skills and tendency to make Harry run his hands through his hair... all the time... And to the Drarry Squad Discord for enduring my babbling and their constant support  
> And finally, a thankyou to you amazing readers who have had a better reaction to this fic than I could have ever imagined.  
> i'm on tumblr [@gracie137blogs](http://gracie137blogs.tumblr.com)  
> As always, comments and kudos are the bestest thing in the world and I love you all <3


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